Doubt
by Silly Little Sparrow
Summary: Voldemort wants Hermione on his side, but of course she refuses. It is harder, however, to refuse the knowledge he and Lucius offer. My first fanfic!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Harry potter is not mine.

Evening had fallen by the time Hermione collected her books and papers and wearily exited the library at Grimmauld Place. Professor McGonagall had needed assistance with some Transfiguration's research, and Hermione needed something to occupy her time over the summer holiday before seventh year; it was a win-win situation, one which each party rather enjoyed. Molly Weasley had expressed concerns to McGonagall that Hermione was working herself too hard, but the professor had dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

"She's a bright young witch who's excited about a research project. It's to be expected. I know I was like that, at her age." Seeing the creases on Mrs. Weasley's brow, McGonagall added, "Hermione knows her limits; but I can have word with her tomorrow if you like."

McGonagall passed on Mrs. Weasley's message, but Hermione, stubborn as ever, had insisted she was on the verge of discovering the key to the spell, so the professor had left it at that. Hermione's late nights continued, which earned her and McGonagall disapproving looks from Mrs. Weasley.

The hallways were eerily silent as Hermione made her way to the room she shared with Ginny. She felt in the darkness for the doorknob, squinting slightly. When she slipped inside, Ginny was nowhere to be seen. _She's likely with Harry_, Hermione mused with a half smile. _I hope they don't get into too much mischief_. Hermione quickly shed her outer robes, then exchanged jeans and a red top for her night clothes, and turned to flop onto her bed.

She never made it. She didn't even register the muffled "_Syncorpus_," before she lost consciousness, and a burly male clad in black robes scooped her up, bridal-style, and Apparated away, far away, from the Order, from her friends, from the place Hermione had called home for over two months.

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Something clinked when Hermione rolled onto her back, still groggy with sleep. Her bed was hard and rank and wet, and accompanied by the metallic scent of blood and urine. She opened her eyes, and her blood froze. This wasn't Grimmauld Place, or Hogwarts, or the Burrow, or...Hermione let out a sharp breath. She was in a dungeon, three yards across at the widest point, with a high window that allowed a dim light through. She closed her eyes, opened them again. She was still there. The witch sat up gingerly, flexing hands, legs, arms. She _seemed_ alright, but Hermione doubted she'd stay in such good condition for very long. At least, not if she was currently a guest in a Death Eater residence. She took stock of her situation: no wand, the only door warded so heavily she could sense it without trying, no idea where she was. _A cell_, Hermione reminded herself. _That's a start_.

She perused the room, noting that the walls, slick with mould and slime, would be impossible to climb if she wanted to escape through the window. The clinking sound Hermione had noted when she first awoke came from chains fastened to the wall. No one had bothered to shackle her up, however, which meant that whoever had captured her didn't see her as much of a physical threat.

_Ginny_, Hermione thought suddenly, her heart speeding up. Was she with Harry? Or a prisoner also? Hermione's muscles tensed up, and her breathing came shallow and quick; she gasped for air, she would suffocate, Ginny was alone, she was alone...and then the rational, bossy Hermione came back. _Calm down, deep breaths. Think_. There had been nothing in her and Ginny's room that seemed out of place, no sign of a scuffle. _She's back home with Harry and Ron, safe, probably eating breakfast_. Thinking of Harry and Ron and of Grimmauld Place and Mrs. Weasley's stacks of toast made Hermione's heart squeeze, but it was calming. They'd be looking for her, they'd find her and bring her back.

A noise sounded from outside her cell. Hermione climbed to her feet, still clad in her white nightie, barefoot. She turned to face the door, her jaw set firmly. _If I go, it will be with dignity. If Harry and Ron and the rest of the Order don't come in time, I will still make them proud, I will stand my ground_. Hermione felt the wards lower, and a chill ran down her spine.

The door creaked open, and Hermione saw four Death Eaters, all with masks. Wordless, they stepped forward and dragged her from her cell. She twisted away from their grasp, and walked on her own. They took her up past the other cells in the dungeon, through rough stone corridors, to a wide chamber that was empty, save for a black throne which sat in in the centre of the room. The place had the feel of a castle to it; Hermione was reminded disturbingly of Hogwarts.

One of the Death Eaters placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. She tried to shrug him off, but another Death Eater spoke, his voice soft, almost gentle.

"The Dark Lord wishes to see you. It will go better for you if you kneel."

She bared her teeth. "The day I kneel to scum like Voldemort is the day he kneels before me."

The other Death Eaters did not try to force her to her knees again; if anything, they seemed amused. Hermione stared resolutely at the wall, fighting the urge to fidget. _He's coming, Voldemort will be here, and I have nothing to defend myself with. _She swallowed, and glanced discreetly around the chamber for an out. _Nothing here, all I have is me...but I have my wits. And I can be brave, that's what'll keep me alive, I must be brave, McGonagall always said I was. _Hermione stood there, shivering in her nightgown, watched closely by four armed wizards who likely wanted her dead more than anything. _I want to go home._

Hermione didn't hear the doors opening, but she _felt_ him enter. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Breathe, Hermione, Breath. He crossed into her line of vision, and she gazed unflinchingly into his face. She was startled, for a moment, by his eyes. Harry had described them as glowing red..._what colour are his eyes? Blue? _They were fierce and compelling, no matter the colour.

"Hermione Granger." Voldemort's voice was soft, gentle, low. "I have heard much of you. Lucius tells me you're the best student in your year."

Hermione said nothing. She assumed a scornful expression. _Are his eyes green?_

Voldemort began to circle her. "I admire brilliance. And you have courage, no doubt. I see it in your face." He brought his lips close to hers. "And you have power, I sense that, too. But you haven't called on those powers yet, have you?"

When Hermione curled her lip, Voldemort smiled like a serpent who had just come across a nest of baby mice. He raised his two long fingers to touch her neck, as though tracing the flow of blood. "Yet such a delicate vessel, to contain so much power..." Voldemort withdrew his hand. "I could use one like you, Hermione."

"I'd never serve filth like you," she spat. "I'll die before the day I raise so much as a finger to help you."

Voldemort seemed unperturbed by her outburst. He chuckled indulgently. "Oh, my dear, I think you would die first, wouldn't you? Which is why I'm not going to kill you. Lucius!" Voldemort bellowed the last word, and Hermione flinched. "Escort our lovely young guest to your quarters. You know what to do."

Voldemort strode from the room without a second glance. One of the Death Eaters stepped forward. Hermione turned apprehensively. The Death Eater wrapped his arms tightly around the witch, and Apparated away.

**To be continued...**


	2. Face to Face

A/N: Please R&R, any suggestions will be appreciated!

**Disclaimer:** Harry potter is not mine.

Hermione gazed listlessly at the ceiling. When Mr. Malfoy had Apparated them to his manor, not half an hour past, Hermione had prepared herself for torture, cruelty, or at least a _dungeon_. Instead, Mr. Malfoy had been fairly civil. He'd given her free rein of the manor, but warned her briskly not to stray too far from the grounds, and then, after summoning a house elf, had left Hermione to her thoughts.

The elf (who Hermione later learned was called Sqeek), had directed her to a large suite, and then he, too, had disappeared, leaving Hermione to become acquainted with her new surroundings.

All the furnishings were of that old, grand, magnificence which one generally associates with royalty; in the bathroom, Hermione found an elegant clawed tub, with scented oils and loofah. The theme of her bedroom was purple: her bed was a sweeping canopy, with curtains of the finest violet material, the wooden chair by the antique vanity was complete with a rich purple cushion, and the lush curtains by the windows glowed a soft lavender.

But what nearly stopped Hermione in her tracks were the book shelves. Each wall was lined from floor to ceiling with books; Hermione wondered fleetingly if Draco had informed Mr. Malfoy of her passion for books. _How kind of him,_ she thought sourly. She had turned away resolutely.

Too weary for much more exploration, she had climbed into her bed and stayed there, intending to sleep.

Instead, Hermione found herself lying awake. She was numb, she knew, but everything was starting to sink in. She was held prisoner in an exquisite suite in the Malfoy Manor by a ruthless follower of one of the world's most feared wizards; she was cut off from her family and friends, her mentor, McGonagall, and even Crookshanks. She punched her pillow. And Ginny...Hermione prayed her friend hadn't been taken as well. A sob escaped her lips; a tear slipped down her cheek. And then every pent up emotion flooded out, every silent rage she'd held in. She cried as she'd never allowed herself to before.

Inevitably, Hermione's practical nature took over, and the mist cleared. She took a deep, steadying, breath. _It's not a test of my endurance--not, at least, concerning pain. It's just a game Voldemort wants to play...but I can play too._ Hermione rolled off the bed, and strode into the bathroom. _Why prolong it? I'll pretend to give him whatever he wants, pretend I'm on his side._ But it would take some time, Hermione knew. Voldemort would hardly believe it if she woke up the next morning and decided to be a Death Eater. _No,_ Hermione decided, filling the marble tub. _He has to think he's in control._

When the water stopped, Hermione added a sharp, lemon-scented oil, pulled her nightie over her matted curls, and climbed ino the tub. The steaming water eased her sore muscles, and the lemon did wonders for her frame of mind.

When she was clean, Hermione stepped from the tub, and wrapped a soft maroon towel around her shoulders. She was just combing out her hair when a knock came from the door.

"It's Sqeek, Miss. The Master wants for the Miss to join him for supper."

Hermione rushed to the dooor. "Sqeek? Just hang on a sec," she opened the door, clad only in her towel. "When's dinner?"

Sqeek jumped and tried to cover his eyes with the tunic he was wearing. "Fifteen minutes, Miss." He squeaked. "I is leaving now, Miss." He disapparated with a crack.

_Well,_ thought Hermione. _That went well. Now,_ she closed her bedroom doors._ I should probably find something suitable to wear._

Exactly seven minutes later saw Hermione in a bronze-coloured evening gown that she knew would bring out the cinnamon in her eyes. She had applied some more of the sharp lemon scent, and even attempted to tame her rebellious curls.

She was wondering just how she was expected to join the master of the house for dinner if she hadn't the first clue where the dinning room was, when a smart knock came at the door. _Okay,_ Hermione reminded herself, glancing in the silver looking glass,_ act shy and soft, be the wilting flower. He has to feel in charge_. She gave her hair one final pat.

Hermione opened the door, excpecting Sqeek or some other house elf. Instead, it was Lucius Malfoy who stood looking down at her.

"Miss Granger. Allow me to escort you to supper." Mr. Malfoy's hair, so fair it was almost white, had been tied back, exposing strong cheekbones. The cruel lips were curled in what he must have imagined to be a smile. He wore deep blue evening robes which accentuated those gray eyes of his...Hermione realised Mr. Malfoy had extended his arm, and was waiting calmly for her to take it. She placed her hand meekly on his, and followed him to the dinning hall.

The man seemed coldly indifferent. _Act like you're trying to please him,_ Hermione thought. She bit her lip. "Will Draco and Mrs. Malfoy be joining us?" Her voice quavered.

Mr. Malfoy fastened those gray eyes on her. "Draco is staying with Zabini. And my wife," he hesitated for a moment. "My wife is no longer staying here."

Hermione knew better than to ask why. She risked a sideways glance at him; he seemed at ease, but she had noted the tightness in his voice, the flair of his nostrils, when she had mentioned Narcissa. She filed that information away for later use.

They came to open double doors, and Mr. Malfoy gestured her in. _And now I dine with the devil,_ Hermione thought, sinking into the chair he offered.

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Lucius Malfoy was a master at controlling his facial expressions; he'd always had a talent for deception. But when the witch had made an innocent inquiry about Narcissa, Lucius had faltered for a moment. The problem, however, was not about his wife; he had no regrets regarding Narcissa's absence. No, what really irked the man was the girl-child he'd been forced to take in.

When McNair had apparated into the castle bearing Potter's friend, Lucius had been the one to confirm her identity. He had recognised her at once--the wild mane of hair was impossible to forget. She seemed so delicate in repose, however, that he wondered, momentarily, if this was truly the spitfire his son complained so bitterly about.

Once Lucius had seen her with Voldemort, however, any uncertainties disappeared. He noted the stubborn chin, the determined voice, the scorn blazing in her eyes when the Dark Lord had reached for her neck...and therein lay the crux of the problem.

How could any witch who stood against Lord Voldemort, proudly defiant and full of contempt, turn so timid when speaking with him? A lion does not become a mouse so quickly. She could be faking, Lucius knew, but had he not seen the girl's response to the Dark Lord, he never would have suspected that such fire could burn beneath that creamy skin, the wide eyes.

Lucius gave an elegant shrug. Perhaps she was only scared. He _was_ rather terrifying.

**To be continued...**


	3. Dreams and Beginnings

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

**A/N**: I'm SO sorry I haven't updated in a while--I had awful computer problems and was stuck in a cabin in the middle of the woods. Updates will come at least once or twice a week--more, if I can. Thanks for reading, please review!!

Hermione was surrounded by luxury, and bored out of her wits. The books she read prrovided a temporary escape, but nothing could temper the lonliness which drove the girl almost to tears. Knowing she had a job to do, Hermione ignored the persistent images of Harry and Ron, and instead held her secrets hard in her heart. For the most part, she remained coldly polite to Lucius, and he returned the favour. That is, until the nightmares began.

_A cemetary, misty with dawn. Hermione floated under a stone archway, past marble angels and rough tombstones. The air shimmered. A stone table caught Hermione's eye. A bell tolled, and echoed faintly across the field. _

_The wind moved her closer, and Hermione could make out a person laying on the table. _Sacrifice_, the voices whispered._ Sacrifiiiiccce. _The figure, a young woman, was draped in cloth-of-gold, her hair all a tumble. The woman lay utterly still. Hermione squinted, trying to see who it was._

_She gasped._

_The figure suddenly sat straight up. Hermione saw it was an exact replica of herself, but the eyes...where the creature's eyes should be there was black blood, running slowly down the cheeks. The Hermione-figure gave a sinister smile, and reached for the witch with both hands, but they were claws, she had claws and her arms seemed impossible long, and they closed, dripping, around her throat..._

Hermione's eyes flew open. Her breath came hard and quick, and her forehead was covered with a sheen of sweat.

The witch felt for her nightstand, and rummaged in the drawer for a candle, and lit it with a thought. Her breathing slowed. _A nightmare, that's all, I'm stressed and I long for home. I long for comfort..._

The next morning saw Hermione in the Malfoy Library, with a stack of books, scribbling notes furiously with a drooping quill. "Sacrifice," the girl muttered. "A graveyard, bells...a demon? No, no, probably a shapeshifter, a boggart, even..."

It was how Lucius Malfoy found her after she missed breakfast and the better part of lunch. He stood in an aisle, arms folded; Hermione never noticed him. The wizard didn't waste the opportunity to scrutinize his ward.

The girl had taken to wearing wizard robes, rather than her customary muggle attire. Her hair had been gathered haphazardly to one side, held up by an extra quill. Lucius noted, not without some concern, that the girl looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes. Ink smudged one of those elfin cheekbones, and Lucius fought the sudden urge to wipe it with his thumb.

He decided to speak up. "What _are_ you searching for, Miss Granger?"

Hermione squeaked, and knocked over her ink bottle. "Mr. Malfoy," she looked over at him with wide eyes. "I didn't see you."

"Obviously."

"Oh, drat." Hermione looked for something to clean the ink. Lucius smirked, and completed the task for her with magic. Hermione smiled sheepishly. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

"You can ask me for help, you know. I have an extensive knowledge base." Lucius boasted. He wasn't lying--he _had_ been the top of his year at Hogwarts. But he wondered why he felt compelled to inform the girl of the fact.

Hermione pierced him with a look. "I'd appreciate that." _Conversation is good,_ she reminded herself. _Let him be your mentor._ "Actually, I could use some help about now."

Lucius sunk gracefully--_does he practice sitting?_ Hermione wondered--into a chair. Tilting his head, the wizard peered at the stack of books. _Curses, Counters, and Creatures_ caught his eye. His brows drew together.

"Do you think I'm cursing you, Miss Granger?" He managed not to sound accusatory.

"No, no, I just...you've been very kind. To tell the truth, I..." Hermione bit her lip. "I don't want you to think I'm silly or _stupid_, or anything..." She risked a glance into those gray eyes. "I've been having nightmares. And I know strange dreams are a safety valve, and I, well I've been sort of stressed and all, but this seems _different_. And I have all this time, so I thought I'd check it out and--"

His voice cracked like a whip. "What happened to your neck?" Lucius seemed more angry than concerned.

Hermione raised her fingers to her throat."What?"

"Your neck is all bruised, what happened?" Lucius replied impatiently.

"My neck? I don't know. I suppose I--" The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "My dream." She rushed to find a mirror, white as a ghost.

Lucius followed her, his face expressionless. The witch stood in the lavatory. She had cast off her outer robe, and was now staring, motionless, at the purple bruise flowering over the creamy skin.

Lucius managed to catch her as she fell.

When Hermione opened her eyes, she found Lucius gazing at her. He laid a hand on her sternum.

"Don't try to move."

Hermione moved anyway, and groaned. Then she looked up calmly at the man.

"I think there's something you should know."

**HGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLM**

Lord Voldemort paced the room. Lucius couldn't remember seeing the man so agitated.

"No _eyes_? You're certain she didn't just bruise herself?"

Lucius nodded. "It's highly doubtful. The handprints don't match. Even though she said the figure was _her_, so logically they'd be the same...but I suppose the whatever-it-was changed when it came for her. You've heard of this before?"

Voldemort looked furious. "Of course I have. I'm just trying to figure out who's cursing her."

That caught the younger wizard's attention. "A curse? But who would--" He stopped as understanding came.

"Very good Lucius. There are three possibilities. One of our own men, which isn't really an option; we both know even they're not foolish enough. It could be a rival group of dark wizards--again, unlikely. So that leaves only one other possibilty." Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Dumbledore."

"He's trying to protect Potter. He thinks Hermione will--or has already--betrayed them." Lucius smirked. "Not with her Gryffindor loyalalty."

Voldemort shook his head. "That's just the point. Dumbledore's misread my intentions. I know the girl won't betray them. Well," he ammended, "she won't betray what she believes to be right." He turned away. "But if she knew reality, if she saw the truth...she wouldn't be betraying Potter at all, if she turned to us for guidance."

"My Lord?"

Voldemort swiveled to spear Lucius with his gaze. "You _must_ help her. It's crucial, Lucius, that she understand."

"Understand what?"

He turned away again. "That it's in her nature to be dark. That if she fights it any longer, she'll kill herself. She'll perish."

Lucius caught his breath. "You mean she's the--"

"A necromancer. The first since the great Salazar himself. You didn't see before?" Voldemort managed to sound suprised.

**To be continued...**


	4. Just A Kernel

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is not mine

**A/N:** Thank you for your reviews!!

The desk in Hermione's room was littered with books and quills and notes when Lucius made his way into the young woman's chambers. Finally too weary for more research, Hermione had let her head come to rest on the desk's surface. Her hair, wild and unmanageable as ever, spilled onto the cedar wood, and a single curl covered the witch's pouty lips. Her hand, still curled around a feather quill, rested atop a small mound of parchment.

"Miss Granger," his voice came too soft for his liking. He tried again. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione didn't stir. Unthinking, Lucius reached his fingers to brush the curl from her cheek. He caught himself, though, and stopped a hairsbreadth from her face, feeling the heat rising from her skin, the pulse in her neck. He listened to the quiet breathing, and marveled that she could sleep so soundly in the home of her enemy. The girl was so different from Narcissa, indeed, from any other female he knew.

Impatiently, Lucius pulled his hand back. He had a job to do, and feeling up his charge was _not_ in the description. Carefully, so as not to wake the drowsing girl, he removed the top page of Hermione's neatly scripted notes.

1. Cemetery--_death, sorrow? flowers in death=new beginnings?_

2. Stone table--_sacrifice, tradition, (Arthurian legend?), unyielding, certain_

3. Golden cloth--_royal, wealth (leads to power). also--removed, detached (Snow White in her coffin) etc._

4. Figure as me--_demon I must face? evil within me I'm to overcome?_

5. Eyes missing--_what I can't see, what I'm refusing to see? maybe just a piece of me that's missing, closed, forgotten knowledge? COME BACK TO THIS!_

Lucius, for his part, was impressed. All the pieces were there--death, power, a missing piece of the self--she just needed to put them together. He didn't doubt she would. Necromancers generally excelled at puzzles, and it was clear that Hermione possessed an extraordinarily adept and logical mind.

Hermione stirred, gave a small sigh; Lucius quickly replaced the notes, and stepped back.

"Miss Granger?" His voice was as brusque and cold as he could make it. "Time to wake."

Hermione was still groggy. "Mr. Malfoy? What happened? I remember my notes..."

"You fell asleep while writing." Lucius made to leave. He paused at the door. "Lessons start immediately after breakfast. Don't be late." He strode through the corridor.

Hermione rolled off the chair. "Lessons? For what? Wait!" But the man was gone.

Grumbling incoherently, Hermione dragged herself to her tub, and started the water. _What lessons, I wonder. Did we talk about it yesterday?_ Hermione shed her robes, which she hadn't bothered changing out of the night before, and stepped into the water, feeling the heat pool around her aching limbs. _He wouldn't teach magic, to be sure. Must be about the dream...oh and I've got to continue the notes, too. I could work on them over breakfast..._

Still mulling it over, Hermione climbed from the tub, toweled her hair dry, and slipped into a fresh set of robes, a gentle green colour. She crossed the room and flopped on her bed to drag a comb through her curls. _I should ask Mr. Malfoy for help. I'll wager he knows something._

After Hermione had recounted her dream to Mr. Malfoy the previous night, he had done nothing but thank her curtly, and inform her that he had an errand for which he needed to leave at once. But Hermione had noted that his face, which had remained for the most part as still as a mask, had flickered with something--was it concern? Fear?--when she'd finished. And he had certainly seemed eager to leave. She was accustomed to his drawling good-bye, casually smug and smooth. He'd seemed so stiff last night. _Frosty, but not nearly so snobbish as usual._

Hermione shrugged, and followed the long corridors to the dining hall. She had learned that the very foundations of the Malfoy Manor shifted and morphed with the passing of every breath; doors appeared one moment and disappeared the next. Some led to great libraries, storage rooms, or more halls; other doors led to nothing at all. In order to reach a specific location, one needed merely to concentrate on wherever it is they wanted to go, and, within any amount of time, would eventually reach there. It was somewhat dizzying at first, but Hermione soon found that the Manor, like any labyrinth, was fairly simple to navigate once she understood the rules.

When she arrived at the dinging hall, Hermione saw platters of fruit and french toast, with jugs of syrup, dark maple, a lighter amber, and a rich purple. She noticed Lucius glaring at her over a cup of tea, and hurriedly sat down.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy."

He gave a quick nod. "I thought we'd begin today's lesson with some wandless magic. Then we'll move on to some flying, and I'll assign some reading."

"Wandless magic, broomsticks. Can't make it _too_ easy," Hermione quipped, cutting into her toast.

Lucius did not crack a smile. "You'll be doing _broomless_ flying."

Shaking her head, Hermione selected a plump pear. "My favourite. Though I admit I'm suprised you're letting me do magic."

Lucius scowled. "Under _my_ supervision, and you won't have a wand." He spooned up some berries, paused, and shot her an appraising glance. "Please don't try to do anything foolish, though. I'm not in a chasing mood."

Hermione decided he was joking. "Wouldn't dream of it, Sir." She bit delicately into the pear; the juice ran down her chin. "Any thoughts on my dream?"

"Could be several things, though it's probably a curse."

"From whom? Can you tell?

Lucius looked down his nose at her. "Albus Dumbledore."

"What?" Hermione gasped. "You're not serious, surely. Dumbledore's working with Harry and Ron on my escape!"

The man sighed. "Miss Granger, you...you're an exceedingly powerful witch. But naive." His gaze was not without sympathy. "My home is very well protected, very well hidden--a rescue, while not impossible, would be highly unprobable. And some things aren't black and white, Hermione. Dumbledore certainly isn't. His duty is to protect Potter and the other children at Hogwarts, and that can mean sacrificing the individual for the collective..."

Hermione caught on quickly. "Professor Dumbledore is counting on you not to hurt me. It's _me_ he doesn't trust." Her voice was flat.

"You're strong. He doesn't want us to use you."

"Aren't you?"

"The Dark Lord has found that tasks are more efficiently completed by willing wizards and witches. He _wants_ your cooperation."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you'll remain here. But no magic, not even books on magic. We'll cut you off completely."

"That doesn't sound like you're giving me much of a choice." Hermione huffed.

Lucius looked hard at the girl. "Is it not preferable to the alternative? I know you're intelligent, Miss. Granger. The longer you stay here, the more you might see that..."

"That what?"

"That things aren't always as they seem." Lucius replied simlpy. "That darkness_ can_ be inherent, and if it is, then it cannot be evil." He seemed sad. "We are not the men who enslave and rape, the men who murder for pleasure, on a whim. We have codes of honor, laws we must abide by."

Lucius was silent; he stared into a place Hermione could not reach, a place she had never seen. "Mr. Malfoy?" she finally ventured.

"We can be valiant, and chivalrous," he whispered, turning back to her. "We have morals, and ethical debates. We have families." The gray eyes found the amber. "We can be _good_."

Hermione blinked.

**To be continued...**

A/N: please review :)


	5. Lemons and Lullabyes

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter isn't mine :-(

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews--they keep me writing this story!

A/N#2: I'm trying to decide how corrupt Dumbledore is, along with some--if any, actually--other members in the Order. Any ideas/recommendations?

"No, no, no! You're not trying. You need to think _light_ thoughts! Again."

Hermione gritted her teeth. They'd been at broomless flying for nearly three hours. Each time Hermione fell, sometimes from well over thirty feet, she had picked herself up, heedless of her bruises, of the man's acerbic gibes, and attempted the spell once more. It was her second week of lessons. The first day, Lucius had Hermione try to hover; it was more like meditation than anything. They had progressed from there to moving whilst afloat, and then to greater speed, more complicated maneuvers, like passing through a narrow tunnel while spinning.

If Hermione were to be honest, she'd admit that magic lessons felt _good_. She felt like her whole self again, freer, as though she had been in a coma for a year, and was finally waking to the real world. With magic, Hermione felt the fire within her rekindle.

Closing her eyes, she sent a web of bronze fire--her own magic--all around her. She added more under her feet and stomach, feeling the magic bouy her up, until her body was horizontal. Allowing the bronze fire to fill her, just as Lucius had taught her, Hermione took off, arms extended on either side. She flew over a courtyard, the green rushing below her, and past a turret of the Malfoy Manor. And strangely, her previous misgivings about flying vanished; the air was where Hermione _belonged_.

Lucius watched her soft landing on the grass, around twenty yards away. The witch seemed pleased, her mouth curved in a smile, the amber eyes glowing. She began striding towards him, and as she drew closer, Lucius caught his breath. He could feel the happiness flowing from her like liquid, coaxing a hesitant smile from his own lips. Hermione was flushed and breathing hard, her curls tumbling around her shoulders and framing the elfin face. She pumped her fist in the air.

"Finally! I never knew flying could feel like that." She tossed her hair, and gave him a victorious smirk. "I'd try again, but my arms are shaking," she confided.

Lucius allowed himself a full lipped smile. "It'll happen for a time, at least until you gain enough strength to maintain that kind of long flight. I think we'll call that a day. Why don't you go take some time for yourself; rest a bit, freshen up. I'll have lunch sent to the library in around an hour." He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. "Good work today."

Hermione sighed gratefully as she made her way past him, and headed for her chambers. Over the weeks since her lessons began, it seemed that Lucius had opened up to her. He'd been gracious and kind, charming, even. He taught with a firm hand; he was stern and strict, but never failed to give praise where it was due. Hermione admitted to herself that she might grow to _like_ the man, even respect him. Once the stiff formalities of strangers had been breached, Lucius had engaged her in lively debates over lunch, made witty remarks while reading together in the main library. He'd delighted her with stories of his time at Hogwarts, little vignettes that often revolved around his ability to outwit even his most esteemed professors. Hermione was easily drawn into his tales, relaxing at the mention of shared school experiences. Lucius played the gentleman, constantly offering her a hand down the steps, pulling out a chair, or else carrying her books. And if Lucius ever despised his guest, or resented his role as host, he gave no sign. For her part, Hermione was content to let the man charm and please her...so long as he continued to teach her.

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Hermione and Lucius were settling down for a light supper in the garden; today it was a variety of bite sized sandwiches: watercress, cucumber, and tomato, with a pot of lemon tea to wash it down.

Hermione chose two of the tomato sort. "It's odd. I'd never given much thought to the daily life of Death Eaters...I suppose I never really wanted to."

"And how do you see us now?" Lucius took a sip of tea, the stars turning his eyes a dark silver, and glinting off his fair hair.

"Well...it's _different_, to be sure, more formal regarding customs and traditions, but more casual on the planning end of things. I'd always assumed your days would be spent plotting assassinations, or throwing darts at a Harry Potter target." She laughed a little, abashed. "Instead I find myself taking supper with one of Voldemort's most feared followers."

Lucius smirked. "The great Hermione Granger, wrong for the first time in her life." He pretended to brush something off the shoulder of his robe."I see the sky's falling, too."

Hermione snickered into her tea. "Just don't get used to it." She sobered for a moment. "I suppose you've known, for a while, what I am." She looked up at him intently.

Lucius said nothing, his eyes fastened on the girl.

She bit her lip."Broomless flying isn't too common, is it? Especially not combined with wandless magic."

Lucius nodded slowly, waiting for what he knew would come.

Hermione continued, her voice slightly shaky, but clear and certain. "I am logical and organized. I've never needed extra help on spells or incantations, never knackered up a potion. I can remember everything, _anything_, that I need to...and back when I was eight or nine, I remember I could make things happen. No," she frowned and looked at her hands. "That's not right. I didn't control it, I _couldn't_. I hated it, then, because no one understood." Hermione looked up. "And then I realized that it happened to all magic children...I was so relieved. Except it's not normal, what I can do, is it?"

"No, Hermione, it's not." Lucius spoke gently, carefully, as though worried she'd run off if he startled her.

She was still for a long moment. "The doctors thought it a miracle when my grandfather survived after three successive strokes, especially at his age. But that was me, wasn't it? I touched his hand and kissed his brow, and his skin was so cold, but then he came back to me." Her voice was rising in pitch. "And then back in fifth year, at the Ministry. I should have _died_. Harry thought I did..." A tear slipped down her cheek, pearly under the moonlight; Lucius wiped it with the pad of his thumb. "A _Necromancer_, that's what I am, and you never told me, you knew, you _knew_ what I am, and I didn't even know they existed."

And suddenly she was sobbing, and Lucius went to her side and drew her in his arms. Hermione melted against him, pressing her face against his chest. Lucius held her for a long time, until her trembling ceased, until he could feel her heartbeat slow. She seemed so fragile in his embrace, so achingly vulnerable, that Lucius wondered if he could ever let her go. He pressed her tightly against him. His heart clenched.

"I knew," he said, voice low. "But it was something you needed to find for yourself...Hermione?" He pulled back to look at her. Her eyes were closed with weariness. He sank slowly to the grass, cradling Hermione carefully in his lap. Her only response was to snuggle closer. The night air smelled of violets and lemon and green grass, as well as the scent that was distinctly Hermione: clean, fresh, and sweet.

Lucius held her for a moment longer, tenderly moving her silky hair back from her face, crooning a wistful lullaby under his breath, guarding her sleep. She was everything he had never known in a woman: fiery, exuberant, brilliant...she was gentle, loyal, and brave. Hermione was made of twilight and mist and amber, clear and glowing under the stars. He wanted nothing more than to cover them with his cloak, and lean back into the coolness of the flowers, sleeping the chilly night through with Hermione curled into his side...

But he knew it could never be. And so Lucius gathered her into his arms and headed back into the Manor, where he deposited the drowsing witch into her canopy bed, closing the gauzy curtains, and shutting the door softly behind him. Lucius made his way to his favourite oversized chair in the library, the fire thawing his cold fingers. He smelled faintly of lemon, a whisper of Hermione's scent. He stayed there for a long time, gazing despairingly into the red, red, flames.

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Hermione awoke at dawn, feeling refreshed. She took a long soak in her tub, and then wrapped a dressing robe around her shoulders. She crossed her room, and opened the shutters. The day was crisp and slightly chilly; Autumn was definitely on the way. Hermione looked out onto the Manor grounds, and the blue mountains behind them. Harry and Ron would be boarding the Hogwarts Express soon, along with all the other students. She could picture them in Hogsmeade, milling around Honeydukes, exchanging wicked grins in Zonko's, glancing knowingly at the Shrieking Shack. She wondered if they stopped in Flourish and Blotts and thought of her.

Ever since that breakfast, over two weeks past, when Lucius had spoken for the first time about his life under Voldemort, a kernel of doubt had grown within Hermione. _What _are_ good and evil? _She mused._ Can darkness be anything but evil, can it in fact become a force that moves for good?_ But the most troubling questions were regarding her former headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. He was kindly, endearing, quirky. _But just because something is amusing,_ Hermione thought, _that does not mean that it is without claws._ It was coming on one month since her capture, and she'd seen no one, and none of the Order had tried to contact her, or attempted a rescue. _Not that I know of, anyway._

Surprisingly, Hermione found that she did not mind so much. She was learning more than she ever had at Hogwarts, and mastering spells and magics beyond her most secret dreams. Had she ever thought, during some cold night in the Gryffindor commons while completing an astronomy chart, that she could one day _fly_ on her own, and actually enjoy it? It had taken her only a couple weeks to become proficient, and in a few months, she might be able to perform any spell she could imagine without the usage of a wand. Hermione doubted she could give it all up.

But then again, betraying Harry and Ron would be equally impossible. _Although...I do have more than two options. I'm not being forced to give up my magic, just as I'm not being _forced_ to betray the boys. Lucius understands the difference..._

Yet Hermione knew, in her deepest and most secret of hearts, that one day, that very choice would be thrust upon her, whether she was ready to face it or not.

**To be continued...**

A/N: Please review!


	6. A Morning in the Life

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter isn't mine

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay--ugh computer problems. Hope you enjoy :-)

When Lucius had sat her down, Hermione knew he meant business--something serious was going on. He'd kept his face carefully neutral, as he explained that the Dark Lord had invited her to what Lucius and the Death Eaters had daubed 'morning workouts'. Each Death Eater was required to attend the sessions. Hermione blanched when she learned that 'workouts' was a fancy term for dueling practice. Sometimes Voldemort would divide them into groups and stage mock battles; other times it would be one-on-one practice, with the entire body of followers watching. The morning workouts were unpredictable and dangerous, much like the Dark Lord himself.

The first morning of practice dawned cool and crisp; Autumn was coming. Hermione had laid awake for much of the previous night, wondering what lay in store. She was ready, she knew. She'd always been lean and fit, but the flying lessons had made her more lithe and limber, more confident and adept, resoucreful, and aware of her environment. _And_, Hermione thought wryly, _it can't hurt to have more control without a wand than most wizards have with. _

She wandlessly and wordlessly summoned her training gear, and couldn't resist a quick, pleased grin when it zoomed happily over to her bed. The suit Lucius had her fitted for was formed of some tough, flexible fabric, which hugged her body like a glove. Lucius had informed her it would protect her from moderate curses, and was saturated in healing spells. _Not that she'd need them,_ he'd ammended with the cocky curl of his lip that Hermione knew so well. The witch supposed it couldn't hurt any, however, so she'd made no comment.

It took Hermione a moment to figure out how all the pieces fit together, but she was soon dressed and at the mirror, twisting her curls up into a quick bun. She stepped out into the familiar hallway, and, letting her mind fix gently on the dining hall, she moved her feet, knowing the walls and floors would move until they had formed her destination.

Once there, Hermione found she was alone. Shrugging, she pulled out a chair, and pulled a stack of toast to her plate. Lucius had made no further mention of her Necromancic powers, and she'd followed suit. Although she was loathe to admit it, she almost--_almost_--wanted someone to die, so she might try out her ability. The thought was so out of tune with Hermione's usual musings, however, that her psyche hadn't known what to do with it except push it into the darkest recesses of her mind. For the most part, Hermione was quite content to let it remain there, hidden and safe.

Lucius joined her while she was pouring a glass of grapefruit juice.

"Morning, Hermione." He rolled the cuff of his sleeves back. "Are you ready for today?"

"More than," Hermione responded, lacing her tone with a smug confidence she didn't quite feel. "Are _you_ ready to be beaten by a girl?"

Lucuis gave her a boyish smile over his apple slices. "The day you conquer me, my darling, is the day I purchase a pink poodle."

Hermione laughed, then, and Lucius added his voice to hers. _He has a nice voice,_ she thought. It was midrange for a man's, and somewhat hesitant. _Comforting to listen to._

When they were through, Lucius stood up, and held out a hand. "Coming?" His voice was careful, the expression blank.

She responded by placing her hand in his. He pulled her forward to his chest so suddenly she squeaked and fell into him, but they were already spinning in the air, turning through one thousand miles of space. Her hands absorbed the power and tension in his waist, and she felt herself swelling, chills running through her. She opened her eyes for a moment, and witnessed the hazy blur, the slow rush of colours, the breathless pause before the next heartbeat...until, trembling, she landed safely in the tall man's arms.

He released her when she regained her balance, and, as though he knew, smiled into her eyes and touched her cheek.

Hermione gazed wordlessly at her surroundings. They were outside, near a clearing in a wide aspen forest. The trees were tall and old, and they whispered with the wind, old secrets that only the the earth could understand. The ground under Hermione's feet was mossy and soft, ideal for quick landings.

"Where is everyone?" She asked, turning to look at her companion.

She felt him probing with his magic. "Here," he said, leading the way into the clearing.

Around fifty wizards and witches were gathered in a loose circle, some conversing lightly, others stretching in smaller groups. The air was cool and breezy. Hermione followed Lucius to a cluster of wizards, head held high. One of them saw her.

"Mrs. Granger. You're joining us today?" She saw Lucius give a nod.

"The Dark Lord wants to introduce her. He's quite pleased with her progress." Lucius said casually, glancing at the assembled followers.

The one who spoke first was quick to take the fair wizard's meaning. He turned to peer at the girl apraisingly. "Welcome, then. We're all interested to know you."

Hasty introductions were made. Hermione looked hard at each face, etching them into her memory. The lanky young man with bronze skin was Vardon; the slight and quick wizard with ashy blond hair was called Tobias; Jon was the dark-haired giant who kissed her hand.

It was just before eight-thirty when Voldemort showed; Hermione, who was begining to enjoy herself, immediately felt the stillness in the air. The Dark Lord, garbed as always in flowing black robes, made his way to stand in the centre of the circle, making the usual pre-workout speech.

The sharp eyes traveled across the ranks, and finally came to rest on Hermione. The others gathered noted his gaze, and stared at the witch, who needed all her self control not to blush.

The Dark Lord's voice was soft, his eyes as compelling as Hermione remembered. "And we have a new addition to our workouts...a witch younger than all of you here. Hermione Granger." He beckoned her forward, to stand at his side.

A low murmur rose through the crowd, but was quieted when Voldemort raised long fingers. "She is here at _my_ personal request, to develop her powers. Powers which,"--he paused and glared at each face before him--"you would do well to be wary of." The Dark Lord placed a hand on the small of her back--Hermione trembled at his cold touch--and ushered her back into the ranks. "Now let's begin, shall we?"

He divided them into three groups, and had two from each take a turn at dueling. The rest of the members were instructed to watch for errors and offer advice and encouragement. Hermione searched the crowd for Lucius, but was immediately paired with three other wizards. She won the first, but it was a hard victory. The older wizard had managed to land two nasty curses--one gave a quicksand effect anywhere she stood on the ground, the other made vines try to strangle her--but Hermione easily evaded the first by flying--which, it soon became clear, no one expected--and turned the other on her opponent, and telling the plant to go after him instead. The man came over to shake her hand once it was done, a rueful smile on his weathered face.

"I did think I had you, for a moment. Congratulations, young lady. You gave me the best fight I've had in a while." He'd winked at her, then strolled off to find another dueling partner.

The second and third duels were uneventful for Hermione; she dispatched them quickly (having no mind to toy with her opponents). As Lucius had instructed, Hermione played a gentle game, never showing more power than she needed to.

Duels lasted anywhere from five minutes to an hour. She stood watching, when a young man she had met earlier came to stand by her. Vardon, who had produced a cup full to the brim of cool water, informed her that the longest recorded duel had lasted well over two hours.

"Who was it?" Hermione couldn't imagine wielding enough power to sustain a two hour duel.

Vardon smirked. "Bellatrix and Lucius. There's something of a rivalry between them." Hermione stored this information away for later examination.

She whistled through her teeth. "I can't imagine. Does Vol--the Dark Lord ever join in?"

He shook his head. "Only for critiquing." He gave her a sideways glance. "You planning on challenging him?" He tsked in mock disapproval. "Awfully dangerous, you know." Vardon took a long drink.

"No, no, no," Hermione laughed. "Just curious." She peered at the battling wizards, seeking a flash of fair hair. Lucius was nowhere to be seen.

"Alright, Miss Curious. I'll buy that for now." His eyes, Hermione suddenly noticed, were very golden. Vardon poured the remaining water over his brow, shaking out his thick black hair. "See you around." She watched him saunter off, shaking her head.

It was around noon when everyone had finished dueling. Hermione was slightly nervous for her critique--these people were her enemies, once upon a time, but they were suprisingly cordial and good humored. She wasn't sure at first, about giving advice to anyone else, but she soon found that they listened to her calmly, neither judging nor taking offense. _I could feel comfortable with these people,_ Hermione mused. She'd been completely isolated at the Manor, except for Lucius and the house elves, and she found she missed being around other people. _I feel almost myself again._

It was true--she had her old fire back. But Hermione--whether she realized it or not--was _different_. Her normally bossy nature had quieted, leaving a quiet strength and sure leadership behind. And she had gained confidence in herself. She was even begining to trust Lucius.

And then someone Hermione never expected came forward.

Her ebony hair tumbled wildly about strong cheekbones, and emphasized the slender frame. Honey-fair skin, glimpsed fleetingly under dark robes, was tinged a gentle red. Hermione knew her immediately, having seen her at the Ministry just under two years before.

Bellatrix Lestrange came to stand before Hermione, burning eyes fastened on the girl's face. Hermione glimpsed sharp white teeth when she spoke, unsmiling. "Hermione Granger. I remember you." The girl felt a chill run down her spine when the woman spoke her name. "You've improved." The training ground suddenly seemed eerily quiet.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Lucius materialize by her side. "Thank you. I've had much practice, and a good teacher." She was pleased when her voice didn't quaver.

Bellatrix nodded slowly. "Yes." She seemed as though trying to make up her mind. Abruptly, she continued, voice measured. "You need to watch your left--I noticed you leave it unprotected. An astute opponent could pick up on that easily." She tilted her head. "Good control. Though sometimes it helps to unleash it." She turned to leave.

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind, Mrs. Lestrange." Hermione could see the woman's elegant profile, the white neck.

"Call me Bellatrix." And she was gone, the sound of her voice fading into the trees.

Hermione found she could breathe again, as the tension slowly melted away from the circle.

Lucius patted her back. "She has that effect on all of us, if it helps," he said quietly. Hermione shot him a look, and he laughed. "I rather think she likes you."

Lucius and Hermione made their rounds, saying good-bye to the others. The Dark Lord, Hermione noted, was nowhere to be seen. She asked Lucius, but he merely shrugged. "He likes getting us started, but once he sees everything is going smoothly, he takes off."

She nodded. "Cool," Hermione stretched sore muscles. "So what's the plan for the rest of the day?"

He sighed. "More studies, maybe. Just books, though," he added, seeing her grimace. "I had thought to invite company for supper."

"Okay," Hermione bit her lip. "Any idea who?"

Lucius was quick to reassure her. "No one you'd be uncomfortable with. Just a witch I'd like you to meet. Ready to go?"

She nodded. When Lucius opened his arms, Hermione stepped close and leaned into his chest. Lucius hesitated a moment, and then apparated them away, leaving nothing behind but a shadow."

**To be continued...**

**A/N:** Again, all reviews are appreciated!! Thanks for reading.


	7. Visitors and Violets

**Disclaimer:** Alas and alack, for HP is not mine...

Night had fallen with a flock of stars when their guest rang the door bell. Lucius rose from his perch on the thick armchair by the fire; Hermione stood, and smoothed the folds of her gown.

The house elf Sqeek stood in the parlor. "A Mrs. Martyn here," he announced solemnly, then disappeared. A woman stepped into the light, and Hermione, for a moment, was dazzled.

Her hair was white and golden, and fell in soft ringlets to her waist. The woman was garbed in a pearly blue gown, elegant and soft: long dagged sleeves set off a gentle neckline, and a full skirt. Clear silver eyes surveyed the room, finally coming to rest on Hermione.

Lucius was the first to speak. "Elena, Elena. It's been too long." He strode forward to clasp the woman's hands in a formal gesture. "I'm delighted you could come at such short notice."

"Oh, pish tush, Lucius, don't you dare get proper with me." She kissed his cheeks, rustling as she moved, and then turned sharp eyes back to Hermione. "And you must be Miss Granger."

The younger witch inclined her head. "Hermione, please. It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Martyn." The woman swooped down to kiss her cheeks as well, and Hermione blushed.

Elena Martyn's gaze lingered on her a moment, before she glanced at the wizard, who was smirking ever so slightly. "Is supper ready? I'm simply _famished_." She began striding to the dining hall. "I've fasted since Iuris came with your invitation--thats my new eagle owl. He's a bit testy, but just a dear once you get to know him--since I know Lucius likes to eat well." The woman smiled at Hermione, and confided, "well, he used to, anyway, when he actually thought to invite his dear old sister to supper. Call me Elena, by the way, Mrs. Martyn was my mother."

Hermione, still slightly flustered, followed, shooting a glance at the wizard behind her. The dining hall, Hermione soon found, had been laid with flowers--violets--and silver settings. Candles floated well above the table, spilling a fluid pink light to the hall.

They started the evening meal with soft cheeses and fruit, with thin, wafery crackers. A steaming pale soup was served next, with crab meat and barley; and then came salads: dark summer greens, with goat cheese, onion, and grape. They paused for tea after that, flavoured a mellow chamomile.

Elena spoke through the early courses, teasing and flirting lightly, asking Hermione questions, not of her life, but of her ideas and dreams. Her gaze was intent upon Hermione the whole time, and she nodded frequently, or asked for confirmation on a subject. Occasionally Hermione would glance at Lucius, uncertain if she should turn the conversation to him. But he seemed relaxed and pleased, leaning back in his chair, arm resting on the table, an easy smile on his features.

House elves brought platters of leg of lamb next, roasted with honey and red peppers, with jugs of a fruity red summerwine to wash the stickiness down. At one time, Lucius reached over to dab a bit of honey from Hermione's nose; Elena smiled serenely, and buttered a warm roll, frangrant with rosemary. Hermione was completely full, but again, house elves arrived, this time bearing a spicy southron dish: eggs chopped and cooked with onion and mushroom and radish.

She pushed her plate away, and Elena laughed and copied the gesture. "I _told_ you he likes to eat well." She pointed with her chin at the wizard, who was avidly cutting into his lamb, oblivious to the two women.

Hermione laughed. "Can he even hear us?" She was feeling more comfortable than she'd anticipated.

"Apparently not." Elena took a sip of summerwine. "I think dessert's next; I'm beginning to regret all the crackers and cheese."

"They were rather more cookie than cracker," Hermione admitted. "But I agree. Dessert is my favourite."

The evening passed in the same quiet way. No mention was made of Hermione's unique abilities, for which the girl was unduly grateful (she _had_ envisioned a dull supper centred on her particular talent). Elena, however, was all grace and laughter, and Hermione grew quite fond of her.

It was past midnight when Elena departed, patting her flat stomach regretfully. "We really should do this again, you know," she announced to Lucius. "Your Hermione is quite charming." She smiled at Hermione, a gentle wind at her hair. "Though I think next time we'll both save more room for the best course."

She kissed Lucius again, and then enfolded Hermione in her arms, resting her cheek for a moment on Hermione's curls. "I look forward to our next meeting, Hermione. Angels watch over you till then." Elena stepped back quickly, and Disapparated, leaving behind a gentle rose scent.

Hermione and Lucius stood for a moment in the night air, just outside the door. Finally, Lucius cleared his throat. "Shall we retire to the gardens?"

The witch nodded, and stretched. "I think I'll change first, though. I'd hate to ruin this gown, especially since I was so careful over dinner. See you in fifteen?"

"I'll be there."

Hermione gave the wizard a small grin, then left for her chambers, rather more than anxious to get out of her strappy sandals. Once there, she quickly shed the offending shoes, gown, and slip, and then pulled a dark purple summer dress over her head. She removed her hair comb, too, and shook out her curls. Then, barefoot, she slipped through the silent halls to the gardens.

**HGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHGLMHG**

Lucius made his way to the gardens after exchanging heavy dress clothes for thin, cotton robes and a warm cloak. Hermione was already there on the balcony, shivering slightly under the stars. Lucius moved behind her, and wrapped his arms and cloak about her shoulders.

She leaned back gratefully into his chest. "I had fun tonight." Lucius could hear a smile in her voice. "I never knew you had a sister."

"Now you do," he answered. "What did you think of her?"

"I liked her." Hermione hesitated. "Though I thought she'd be more like you were at first."

"What, devilishly handsome and charming?"

"_No_!" Hermione laughed. "Try snooty and colder than a fish." She could feel the laughter in his chest.

"Painful, but fair, I suppose. It's only my harsh upbringing, I'm afraid. I couldn't possibly behave any better."

Hermione shook her head, chuckling softly. "Whatever you say, Lucius. Though if she's your sister, you both had the same upbringing."

Lucius sighed in mock defeat and rested his forehead against her hair. Hermione smelled again of lemons, of violets...he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of amber lakes and summer castles, shimmering in the steamy light...

A wistful expression touched her eyes. "Lucius?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever wish it was just us here? No choices or evil or good. We'd never worry about the future, or the past. Only here, only now."

"I do, at times." The wizard pulled her closer in his arms. "But then, without the choice, I think it all would be..._meaningless_. The choice is what makes us...well, makes us _human._ It's the burden we must bear, yet the understanding we derive from it is what wisdom means."

"You mean we could do the right thing, or at least what we _thought_ was right...but if there was no alternative, no 'wrong' choice, it still wouldn't be good?"

"No. I don't believe that wrong intentions always negate the good act. But you can do the right thing for the wrong reasons. Or," he mused, "you can also do the wrong thing for the right reasons."

"What do you do?"

Lucius smiled. "I try and live as best as I can. I have my own morals, and ethical standards. To me, compromising them would be the worst thing I could ever do. So I do my best to keep them." He shrugged. "They're all I have."

"You have _me_," Hermione said quietly.

There was a fierce gentleness in those gray eyes. "That's more than anyone can ask for."

He moved her hair back from her neck, and they lingered a while longer in the coolness of the night. Hermione contemplated his words in silence. Eventually, she turned to face him, sighing, and rubbed her cheek slowly against his chest.

Hermione and Lucius stood there, in the garden of violets and summer dreams, gazing up at the stars.

**A/N:** Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!! Please review...


	8. Fears and the Future

**Disclaimer:** HP isn't mine

**A/N:** Again, sorry for the delay. Between rotten computers, college apps, college interviews, and homework, I haven't been able to get much writing in. Thanks for being so patient!

His eyes flew open. He heard feminine screams, piercing and raw, in the chilly dark of his home. Heart racing, he slid out of bed and dashed to his ward's room, clad only in silk pajama bottoms. Something made Lucius stop a few feet from the door, some primal instinct that numbed his legs and turned his blood to ice. Behind the door, Lucius knew, only a few steps from where he was, something _wrong_ waited in that room.

He moved closer, feeling the darkness within the cold chamber stir in smooth anticipation. _Hermione..._the word escaped his lips like a prayer. Lucius lit his wand, and advanced into the inky black of the room, sensing the darkness purr and swirl around him, through him, obscuring the golden flare of his wand. He made out the shape of the bed, and drew closer.

The girl was lying motionless on the sheets, body tense, face contorted in agony. Lucius reached out a hand to touch her cheek, fearing, for a moment, that she wasn't really _there_, that it was a trick, that his hand would pass through nothing more than shadow. Her skin was solid, though, warm and blessedly, blessedly, _real_. She shuddered at his touch, and when the witch opened her eyes, they were impossibly black, endless abysses that saw too far into the night...

"Look at me, Hermione, _only me_," he commanded. "Feel my hand, see my eyes, you know me, you trust me. _Come back_, Hermione, it isn't time yet. The dance hasn't yet begun."

The darkness wavered slightly, reluctantly. _Go away,_ Lucius breathed. _Leave now, your time will come later, the girl isn't ready. Go now_! It seemed to acknowledge the defeat, fading petulantly from the air. Gradually, the rest of the room swam into view, the bookshelves and notes, bureau and mirror and windows. Lucius saw the sharp branches of the apple tree outside, partially obscuring the moon's pale yellow shape, and the turret of a nearby tower.

Hermione shivered for the first time, and Lucius turned back to her, seeing once again his reflection in her gaze. Wordlessly, she flung her arms about him. He rocked them back and forth, gently crooning her lullaby. He held her until sleep overtook her, and her breath came regularly.

If Lucius were a gambling man, he would have been willing to bet his wand that she had another nightmare, like the one she described before. What he didn't know, however, made him more uneasy than the darkness. The future was murky to him, as unclear as the somber depths of Blackslade Mire. He leaned his head back on the pillows.

Long ago, when Lucius was only a boy, his nurse had told him stories of the far North. The were Others there, she had said, grim in the firelight. They came with the cold (or, Lucius reflected, the cold came with them), lean and hungry and ruthless, ever thirsting for life. Lucius had shivered in fear then, and laughed it off when he was older. But he had, in the privacy of his library, searched furiously for documents covering the mysterious Others. Nothing had come up, even in books of children's stories. And then he saw it: a leather bound journal, wrapped in an oilcloth and crammed into an old trunk in the attic. The writing was tight and precise.

_September 4th, 1821_

_In the backwoods again. Garrick and I Apparated two days ago. No sign of them, but we found a man in the snow, unshaven and mad and bloody, dribbling out words as fast as I could write. Here's the most I could make of it: _

_They came, the wolves that weren't. Robb and I,__ we  
tried to fight, but our swords were no match for  
their teeth and claws. Ah, their teeth! They came  
in the middle of the night, with a darkness  
so close it might have suffocated us...Robb didn't  
make it. They went for him first, see. It was all  
blood and tearing and ripping from there. I could  
hear him screaming as they destroyed him...but  
how strange, when they left, there Robb was,  
unscratched. No blood. He might have been sleeping,  
but no, he was dead. Deader than I've ever seen a body._

_It went on much like this. Couldn't get anything else out of him, except that fire is their enemy. Wish we could find them. No one else believes they exist..._

_September 7th, 1821_

_Father found out about our little excursions. Said it was too dangerous, and we had to stop going, but he wouldn't tell why. Garrick and I are beginning to think there's some sinister secret the Ministry's keeping from us. Or not the Ministry. We just know that something _is_ rotten in the state of Denmark, and we're determined to find out what._

_September 27th, 1821_

_In backwoods again. Have been for almost three weeks. Signs of them, more bodies. No blood, but all their eyes are black. _

_What are they? What do they do? Why? _

_Wish Father were here.  
_

_October 3rd, 1821_

_Garrick's wand is broken. Physically fine, just won't perform magic. Still have mine, though. Think Garrick's sulking behind that tree. No, I hear him coming now from behind me. __Soon as he gets his things, I'm grabbing him and Apparating us out. We should never have come he--_

The journal had ended cold, no torn out pages or crossed out entries. Lucius, at sixteen years--a man grown--hadn't been able to sleep for nearly a week after.

Were these the dark gods that hunted for Hermione's soul? Were these 'Others'? Lucius didn't see anyone else in the room with Hermione, just the darkness. But then, anything might have been lurking there, out of sight. Might still be there. Lucius felt a sudden chill, and pulled the girl closer.

What was he to do?

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The early sun woke Lucius. Hermione was curled peacefully next to him, one arm draped loosely over his chest. Moving slowly as possible so as not to wake her, Lucius shifted out of the bed. He turned once to check that she was asleep before leaving the room quietly.

Once he had entered his chambers, Lucius strode to one of the small glass globes perched by his bed. He lifted it off the pedestal, peering at the green and blue and red mists swirling inside. The wizard concentrated on transferring a copy of the memory of Hermione's screams, of the darkness in her chamber into the crystal. When he was done, the mists took on a greenish-brown hue, and churned angrily against the glass, as though straining to break free. Lucius stood.

"Lord Voldemort," he said clearly. Still gazing at the crystal, Lucius made his way to the windows; he gestured, and they opened. Lucius set the crystal atop the air, and watched it float off.

He sank into his desk chair, and rubbed his temples wearily. Unwilling as he was to admit it, the girl's eyes the previous night had unnerved him. He had thought, fleetingly, that it wasn't Hermione who was staring at him through wide eyes. Lucius grimaced.

Pulling ink and parchment out of a drawer, the man scrawled a quick note to his sister, briefly detailing the night's events. He wrote about the journal and his fears, and asked her to come for a light luncheon that day.

His owl returned within the hour with a reply:_ Be glad to come. Don't be troubled, dear brother. We'll figure it out together._

Feeling lighter, Lucius broke his fast on the gardens, with hot tea and porridge sweetened with a generous dollop of honey. He was just reaching for more tea when he felt the summons. Swiftly, the wizard grasped his wand, and Apparated to Lord Voldemort's castle.

Lucius found himself in the Dark Lord's study, with Voldemort's green eyes fastened impatiently on his face.

The Dark Lord did not wait for Lucius to speak. "Is this the first dream she'd had since she started lessons?"

"It is. I had thought they were over."

Voldemort curled his lip in an alarming imitation of a smile. "You think it's over? That the darkness has receded? The dark waxes and wanes, but it is always there. You know this." He sobered. "Hermione will never be free of it, Lucius."

The man raised his head to meet Voldemort's eyes. "I know."

"Then stop fussing over it. Now let's discuss our next course of action." The Dark Lord began pacing. "She's doing quite well, is she not? Even Bella admitted to being impressed on that first workshop." He smirked. "She certainly doesn't seem to be fighting our way. I can sense her impatience, though...she needs more action, more stimulation. Why not a test?"

"A test, my Lord?"

"Oh, a test of sorts. Nothing too dangerous." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "No, I had in mind a little party for dear Hermione. We can launch her into our society." He glanced at Lucius, and continued. "I'm rather proud of her, you see. She's surprised me with her diligence."

Lucius was speechless for a moment. "Yes. She's quite...quite studious. So you plan to integrate her into our society, let her form friendships with other members...that's good. It will solidify her position here."

Voldemort was pleased. "She's appeared to make friends with some other young people at our workouts. More socializing will be good for her."

"With the right people, you mean."

The Dark Lord turned sharp eyes on Lucius. "Yes, the right people. Your Draco, naturally, and Zabini and Vardon. Some female company, too, I should think." Voldemort seemed pensive for a moment. "And perhaps I'll tell Bella to speak with the girl...see if we can form a close relationship between the two."

"You want Bella to mentor Hermione?"

"Why not? She needs another female around, and Bella seems to like her. Well," he amended, "in her own Bella-esque way. In any case, it will be good for the both of them."

"I'll begin planning, my Lord."

"Very good. Until later, Lucius." Voldemort waved a dismissal.

Lucius bowed his head respectfully, and Apparated back to his Manor; Elena would be arriving soon.


	9. Betrayal

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

**A/N:** Thank you all for your reviews!! As always, constructive criticism is appreciated! Enjoy...

Bellatrix Lestrange was waiting alone in the dueling room when Hermione peeked through the doorway, in the grim dark morning before regular workouts. The woman had seated herself on one of the high-backed chairs, and was coolly assessing her young opponent in a vaguely thoughtful manner, similar, Hermione judged, to how a satiated cat ponders a wandering mouse.

"Good morning, Bellatrix," Hermione said, praying her voice came strong. Bella did not reply. She tilted her head to one side, dark eyes lingering pensively over Hermione's face.

"So," Hermione tried again. "How do we start?"

Bellatrix appraised Hermione for a moment longer, then rose in a fluid movement, the black of her gown rippling. "We start," she announced quietly, smoothly, "by testing your capabilities, your assets. I want to know every spell you're able to complete, every potion or trick or skill. In short," she added, producing her wand from her sleeve, "I want to test your limits."

The tension Hermione had felt when she first encountered Bella at the Ministry, and then again at her first morning workout, still remained. Bellatrix was made of fire and fury and sunsets, untamed as a summer storm...yet that energy was contained, veiled. Her facial expressions were difficult to gauge, too: scornful, as evidenced by the imperious gaze, yet there was curiosity as well, and a gleaming, feverish intelligence. Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione knew, was perhaps the most powerful witch Hogwarts had ever seen, who had deflected even Dumbledore's magic.

_This woman,_ Hermione reminded herself,_ is to be my_ _tutor. I could learn from such brilliance... _

Bella first threw random spells at Hermione, and then progressively darker curses; Hermione blocked them with a quick shield, physically dodged them, or whispered the counter-curse. The older witch was mesmerizing in action: lightening reflexes, and she seemed tireless, cheeks flushed with elation and the rush of fire in her veins. And Hermione recognized something disconcerting, as well: there was a touch of predator in that feral gaze.

Hermione was weary after a couple of hours. She pushed her damp curls from her forehead impatiently, gripping her wand tightly.

"That's enough for now." Bella's voice was heavy, with a sharp undercurrent of savagery in her tone. "I have an idea of where you need to improve." She moved closer toward the younger witch, and Hermione suddenly realized how tall she was.

_I wish she would stop playing with me and say what she means_."Well?" Hermione asked warily.

Bellatrix stopped in front of the girl; Hermione could feel the heat radiating off her body, her deep carnal breath. "We need to unlock your emotions, channel energy through them. There _must_ be more than what is here." Bellatrix raised white fingers to Hermione's forehead; the girl recoiled, oddly afraid the woman's hand would be scalding.

"There _is_ more." The young witch said testily.

"Not that I saw. You're mechanical, always thinking it through, never feeling out the spell. Show me intuition, Witch, and I'll believe it."

Hermione's voice rose. "I blocked almost everything you sent me! Even nonverbal spells. How is that not intuition?"

"I can tell you're thinking it through! You're taking time to calculate the impact of your counters, and the effect it will have on me. When dueling, thoughts aren't a process--you should channel spells through your entire body." She was twirling her wand between those long fingers. "Your wand is no mere object, _Necromancer_. It's an extension of _you_."

Hermione glowered as Bella spoke. The woman seemed faintly amused. Finally, the girl turned her eyes away. "Fine. Will I see you at the morning workout today?"

"Likely not." Bellatrix cocked her head again, at an unnatural angle. "I have business." She fastened her fierce gaze on the girl. _Like she's deciding whether to go for my throat or my heart first._ Hermione felt colour blooming on her cheeks.

Hermione waited for the woman to say more. Her teacher was silent. "Well. Bye then." Bellatrix stood, unmoving, between Hermione and door. "Thanks for my lesson," Hermione managed shrilly, edging past the woman. Bella raised her eyebrows. _She's enjoying this,_ Hermione realized. Unsure of how to respond, she exited quickly, feeling about ten feet tall and clumsy.

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Sunlight was beginning to stream through the windows when Hermione plopped herself into a chair in the dining hall.

Lucius had stood when she entered the room, and was presently eying the girl with interest. "I see you survived." He winked, obviously in a good mood. "I admit I'm not entirely disappointed."

"Well that's a relief." Hermione grabbed a glass of water and poured it over her burning face. "Is she always like that?"

"Bella? I suppose. She's always been--intense." Lucius gave her a cloth to dry.

"Just a tad. She said I need _intuition_. That I think too much. I thought that was something Salazar prized?"

"Ye-es." Lucius narrowed his eyes. "But not in that way. Just in terms of planning, being sly and secretive. Calculating and cunning." He gave an exaggerated toss of his hair. "Like me."

Hermione could not suppress a laugh. "I expect you think you have intuition?"

"In abundance, my dear." The man seemed offended. "Much more, anyway, than _you_."

Hermione tried tilting her head like Bellatrix. "And what does your intuition tell you now?"

"That you're--" Lucius stopped abruptly, looking alarmed. "Someone's here."

"What? A guest?"

"No," Lucius said shortly, striding to the doors. "Go to my study and wait there," He ordered sharply. "If I'm not back in fifteen, summon the Dark Lord. Sqeek can show you how." He met her eyes for a single, breathless moment. "Everything will be fine, Hermione."

"What about y--" Hermione began. But Lucius was gone.

Shrugging, she made her way to the man's personal library, running her fingers along the walls as she walked. _I wonder what it is? _Hermione couldn't imagine anything powerful enough to be any real threat._ Just a false alarm, likely._

Once in the study, Hermione went to one of the windows and peeked out of the curtains. She had a semi-front view of the Manor, and could see light and colour swirling through the air, thick as smoke and angry as thunder. The study was perfectly silent, but outside was all chaos. She squinted to get a better view. She could make out people, strangers, who seemed keen on making as much ruckus as they could. She rolled her eyes.

Quite suddenly, the library door burst open, and two young men shouted simultaneously, "Hermione!"

One was small and dark, with a determined gleam in his eyes. _Like one of the faerie folk,_ Hermione mused. The other was tall and lean youth, with flaming hair long as a girl's. He stared at her with blue eyes, and something tugged at her memory, _those eyes_...

And suddenly, with a clarity Hermione hadn't experienced in weeks, she realized that, once upon a time, those determined green eyes, that red hair, would have meant something to her. Would have meant the _world_ to her...

But no, she couldn't remember, it was so long ago...

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said politely. "But do I know you?"


	10. A Silver Lining

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

The spell they'd created with a lock of Hermione's hair allowed Harry and Ron to pinpoint the witch's position almost immediately. It was Ron who'd come up with the idea, after pouring over tomes in the library for countless hours. The lock of hair acted as a _connection_, almost a physical telepathy. It was brilliant.

"The sort of device," Harry had remarked later to Ron, "That Hermione was always coming up with." They'd grinned at each other for a moment; but then memory had returned, and the boys had set, grimly, back to work.

So when they'd burst through the doors in Malfoy Manor, there was no question of who was standing at the window, blandly smiling at the two. There was no mistaking that wild mane of hair, those piercing amber eyes. But the question, it seemed, had to be asked.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said politely. "But do I know you?"

Harry and Ron exchanged bemused glances. Harry approached her warily, palms up. "Hermione," he said, cautiously, half-thinking it was a joke. "It's us. It's okay now, we're here to take you back..."

"Excuse me?" The witch smiled again, benignly. "You must have me confused with someone else. Back where, exactly?"

Harry had frozen, shocked and confused as he was. It was Ron who strode forward and grabbed the girl.

"No time to explain! Let's get her _out_, Harry." The words fired the dark-haired wizard into action. He lunged.

The witch who had been Hermione screamed. "Sqeek! Help! Lucius, they're trying to take me, Lucius--"

But Ron and Harry had each hoisted the girl up, and Disapparated from the manor with a_ crack_.

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Madam Pomfrey sedated the witch, and then gave her milk-of-poppy, so the girl might sleep a bit. Dumbledore had called in the rescue team the moment the two boys had returned safely with Hermione; there had been no casualties, but a few Order members were injured, so Madam Pomfrey bustled about the Hospital Wing while she spoke with the Headmaster.

"How did they find her, Albus?"

He was uncharacteristically grave. "In a library of sorts. Harry thinks it was Lucius's personal study." Dumbledore pressed the tips of his fingers together.

"And just like that? _No_ memory of the two?"

"They tell me she seemed to know them at first. A good sign--she's still in there..." the light blue eyes sharpened. "Ah; it seems Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are here to check in on their friend now."

A knock came at the door, and then two faces appeared, looking equally distressed. "Can we--"

Madam Pomfrey opened the door. "She's not yet awake; I told you two I'd have you notified," she said, peering at them sternly.

"But if it was just a m--"

"She'll be fine, Mr. Weasley, but she needs rest. Now out, both of you." Harry and Ron looked disappointed, but shot the drowsing girl a quick glance, and departed.

"Excuse me, Headmaster," It was Remus Lupin who spoke from the corner, voice rough and cracked. "Might I have a word?"

Dumbledore gave Pomfrey a quick nod. "I'll just be a moment, Poppy..." He held the door for Lupin.

Remus Lupin hadn't changed much since his years as a professor at Hogwarts. He still had the tousled, gray-streaked hair, the deep set green eyes. Sun and wind had leathered his craggy face, making him appear older than his years.

He looked grave in the fading light. "I thought I should tell you what I saw. You know I was with Hermione and the boys when they first brought her in? She was bawling then." Lupin passed a hand over his face. "Her eyes looked--darker. I can't explain, exactly...but they seemed _black_."

Dumbledore tensed. "You're sure? Did anyone else notice?"

"They didn't seem to," he answered quickly. "Not that I saw, anyway. It was disconcerting, though..."

The older wizard gave a sigh, and touched Lupin's back in a consoling gesture. "Don't worry about it, old friend," he walked the werewolf back to the Hospital Wing. "She's still there."

Lupin frowned. "What does _that_ mean, Headmaster?"

A strange look flitted over Dumbledore's face. "Just that things are happening a tad quicker than I foresaw." He produced a piece of licorice from somewhere in his robes, and examined it for a moment before biting into it. "Hermione is safe now, that's the important thing. Now get some sleep, Remus; we all need our strength."

The two parted. Dumbledore headed to his office, to consult past Headmasters of Hogwarts; Lupin stepped back to the Hospital Wing, preparing himself for another horrid-tasting potion.

Outside, the air shuddered in the trees, thrusting bitterly against the lurid night. The crows that were huddled on barbed branches took flight, cawing, beady eyes moving wildly; and through the turrets and spires of the great castle, the wind wept and moaned..._Winter,_ it sighed, _Winter is coming_.

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_Nothingness. _

_She had been falling for years. _Fly,_ whispered the blackness._ Fly above, you're too close to the edge...

"I can't."_ She shook her head. _"No magic, see?"

_The darkness shrugged. _"So you'll die."

"I'm okay with that," _she said._

_The darkness nodded, understandingly. _"Are you?"

_She was falling still, but the world opened beneath her like a book; she could see, hear, touch everything. _

_She saw eastern mountains, burning under the snow...a castle rising, golden and shining, absorbing the light; but a cloud had settled above it, grinning, mouth lined with rows of silver teeth. _

_She looked south, saw eyes, old and seasoned, growing pale with the blood of one thousand suns. There were men, warriors all, marching, marching, marching, raising a cloud of dust behind them.  
_

_Her gaze traveled west, and she saw two lions painting a rainbow, faces etched with wonder...and a youth with flaming hair, crying himself to sleep, hiding his grief from the world...he was a poet, and he was dying, and he was dying...  
_

_...and then finally she looked north. There was a dark boy, purposeful glint in his green eyes, holding vengeance hard in his heart. She saw him casting spell after spell, until the sweat ran down his body, until the candles dimmed and finally sputtered out... _

_And then she unlocked the gray doors, and saw past the white forest, across the seas of the world. She looked deep into the heart of winter, and she cried out, afraid, and tears burned her cheeks._

"Now you know," _shrieked the darkness. _"Now you know why you must live!"_ It swooped down on her, crushing, squeezing the life from her body, so__ Hermione began__ amassing her copper-coloured magic, the way Lucius had taught her, but she couldn't find him, couldn't remember, and __the great abyss before her was calling_...

_And then a stern fair face swam before her, in which gray eyes shone like crystals. _"What does your intuition tell you?" _She heard herself ask him._

The gentle, benevolent smile. "Everything will be fine, Hermione..." _But he tilted his head like Bellatrix, perched on a tree, toes impossibly long, curled and gripping the branch. His gaze fastened on the blood pumping through her neck. _

_He licked his lips. _

_He pounced.  
_

_Hermione screamed. She spread her arms and flew...  
_

Hermione opened her eyes, unsure of where she was. Concerned faces swam in and out of her vision: an older woman, and a man.

"Hermione? Can you hear me?" The woman asked.

Her voice, when she found it, was weak. "I...where am I?" The world seemed two dimensional, distorted.

"You're safe," the gray wolf assured her. "We brought you to Hogwarts."

_Wolves can't talk. _Hermione blinked once, shook her head. She had been wrong, she realized--it was a man speaking. She squinted. It was hard to tell the difference. Her head felt light and empty; the room seemed to twist in on itself.

"Hogwarts?" she mumbled, feeling the webs of sleep claim her again. "I used to know that place..."

The wolf--_was it really so unnatural that he should talk?_--pressed his fingers to her brow. "Sleep again, Dear One," He smoothed her hair. "Your body needs rest."

She felt the rush of consciousness leaving her; she grasped ahold, and was whisked away, unknowing, into a world of ice and daggers and shadows.


	11. A Fork in the Road

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

It was before dawn. Hermione, pale and wan, shifted in her sleep. She did not know how long she had been there. Through the fog of her fevered dreams, she saw faces hovering, white and gray, all familiar...yet as unrecognizable to her as stone. Hermione heard voices, too: firm and concerned and weary. The red-haired boy from her dreams stayed by her side for a long time; she could feel his rough, quidditch-calloused fingers clasping her hands, feel his warm breath, the impossible blue of his eyes. And another visited often, the smaller, determined boy who had thrown his arms about her and Disapparated...

It was strangely comforting, the company of these young men. At times, Hermione almost felt she could remember them, the nights they had spent in the Gryffindor Commons, laughing and drinking butterbeer, or studying in the Library, surrounded by stacks of dusty books. One memory seemed particularly vivid: running through a hallway, vast and heavy, cold as the cathedrals Hermione had visited one summer in Helsinki. She had yelled for the dark boy to dodge one of the spherical crystals that fell nearby...

But then, the recollections seemed so distant and shadowy that Hermione discarded the thoughts as though tossing a fish back into the sea. Instead, she lived in a world of swirling, unstable colour, of sounds and sighs and tears, a world without time or meaning. It was exhausting.

So she opened her eyes.

***

Harry and Ron stared at the girl who sat in front of them. Cheekbones that were far too sunken were framed by a tangle of chestnut curls, so familiar, yet so foreign. She was pale, and sat so still as to be carved of marble. It was her eyes, however, that seemed alive, gazing with a frightening sort of intensity at her surroundings.

Ron licked his lips. "Hermione," he said, voice low and cautious. "Do you know us? Can you remember us, anything..." His voice broke, and he trailed off, still looking at her, blue eyes full of a desperate hope.

She studied the boy, noting the fierceness of his gaze. She knew then, suddenly and painfully, that there had been love between them, once. "I..." She hesitated, and Ron turned away, closing his eyes as though to conceal his grief. Hermione tried to help him understand, tried to explain the strangeness that even she did not fully comprehend. "I do think I know you, at times. It's difficult, though, and the memory fades if I try to hold on to it. Like a dream, you know..." She shrugged helplessly, passing a hand over her forehead.

"It's okay, Hermione." Harry put his hand over hers. "We can get through this. Dumbledore--remember him?--he says your memory should return. You just need some time." He nudged the boy beside him. "Right, Ron? You've heard him."

"I do feel better now than when I first awoke," Hermione admitted. "My head feels less cobwebby and _mushy_, and I...I feel I know this place. We went to school here, yes?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "We did. Still do, actually. For six years. I remember the first thing I said to you..."

Harry filled the long hours of the night with stories of the past, each year's adventures. Ron stayed, occasionally joining in, adding a comment or thought. They spoke quickly, words pouring out in a stream, laughing just a little too loudly.

_Was this my life, then? _Hermione thought. _Is this truly me? And these boys, so gentle and soft,_ they_ were my friends?  
_

As hours passed, then days, and then weeks, Hermione began to meld with her old life. She talked easily with old friends, attended lectures, even tutored classmates. After a month, her memory had fully returned, with a clarity that brought her, gasping, to her knees on the stone floor of the Girls Lavatory. She never told anyone what happened at Malfoy Manor, and no one asked. The boys seemed content to let her slip back into her old life, seemed ready to accept her again, love her again. Hermione almost cried at their kindness, at their weakness.

She still thought about it, though. She even admitted to herself that she missed Morning Workouts, the casual formality of gatherings, as though she had gone back to an earlier time. And Lucius...Hermione couldn't bring herself to think of him, except deep under the cover of night. She would walk along the castle grounds, feet moving over the old dirt path. Almost always, she would find herself near the bank of the great lake, sheltered from the cool winds by the thick branches of an ancient oak. She'd let her hand trail along the black water, and, oddly, a breeze would carry the sharp scent of violets. She'd weep, then, though for what, she couldn't say. The uncertainty, perhaps...she hadn't questioned Lucius' motives that night after meeting his sister, when she had leaned, safe and sleepy, into the warmth of his chest. Nor had she harbored suspicions when the man cradled her to sleep after her nightmares, lips forming a wordless lullaby. She knew Voldemort wanted to use her...of that she had no doubt. But Lucius, her protector, her warm and funny teacher, _her_ Lucius...she never doubted him. _I can be cruel,_ those gray eyes told her. _But let me be gentle with you..._

Hermione wiped her eyes, and removed her hand from the still water. What was done was done. Lucius had kidnapped her, held her captive. He had isolated her from her friends and family, from everything she knew...

_But then,_ a voice inside her whispered,_ he gave you something else, something greater. Think of all he taught you, all you could have been_. _You might have been great, you know. _Such _power_ he had showed her! Hermione stood, jaw firmly set. Wiping dirt and dry leaves from her skirts, she made her way back to the castle, feet silent on the cool grass.

The next morning over breakfast, Hermione poured a goblet of pumpkin juice, and mulled over the last month at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy was not to be seen. "Missing since the beginning of the year," Harry had informed her through a mouthful of treacle tart. "Though his cronies still lurk about."

"More like _lurch_ about," Ron had chortled, and they all laughed. It was strange, no doubt; but still, it was nice not to be called names and snickered over for a change. She wondered, for a moment, if that was how _Lucius_ really saw her...but then stopped herself. _No, don't go there, Hermione. Stay in the present. What happened there was false, an illusion, nothing more._

But still, she had to take a drink of juice to hide her sudden tears.

***

"My Lord," said Lucius, "you're saying the _Necromancer_ in her caused her to forget? But why?"

Voldemort paced across his study, a caged wolf. "That's what we're trying to figure out. It could just be her body's natural reaction, too, of course."

"My Lord," offered a voice, low in the flickering light. "If the darkness is sentient, it may have believed that by dulling her memory, it would gain more control over her." Bellatrix Lestrange stepped forward from the shadows. "Hermione Granger has more darkness in her nature than she would like to believe, I think."

Voldemort paused, frowning in concentration. "Yes, I suppose that..." He eyed Bellatrix. "This could be crucial though. The girl's memory has likely returned by now, and she might go either way."

Lucius spoke up. "Yet if Bella is correct, the darkness will eventually claim her." He glanced at the woman. "Regardless of how she feels about the matter, she cannot go against her own nature."

"Yes, good, good." Voldemort nodded thoughtfully. "We must wait, then, see what happens. Granger's stubbornness could cause us some problems." He turned aside. "I'm unhappy about leaving her there for too long."

"So we retrieve her, my Lord?" Said Bellatrix? "We've carried out similar operations at Hogwarts before."

"No, no, it must be more subtle than that."

Lucius nodded. "She has to feel like it's her own decision. Otherwise she'll likely rebel."

"Then let her know she can come back, that we _want_ her back. Show her that the option is open." The tall, lean wizard fixed his eyes on Lucius. "Tell her, in every way but with words, that we're watching, that we're waiting. Be in her dreams, follow her footsteps, haunt her thoughts."

Lucius was surprised. "Me, my Lord?"

"She seemed to take a shine to you, did she not?" The Dark Lord replied. He shrugged carelessly, and rubbed his chin. "But perhaps Bella should be the one to confront her, when the girl is ready."

Lucius studied the woman, her wild, untamed black hair, the firm jaw and soft full mouth. She was beautiful, it was true, but more deadly than a viper. Did he trust the witch enough not to harm the girl? He wasn't sure. He'd observed them each time they interacted, looking for any warning signs of danger in Bellatrix. If he were to be honest, however, he'd say it was _Bella_ who took a shine to _Hermione_. He wondered, vaguely, if it was because the woman saw a bit of herself in the girl, or if Bella simply wanted the Hermione on her side. It was entirely possible, too, that the woman didn't particularly mind taking on a mentor role. And Hermione was an apt pupil, no doubt.

Later that night, Lucius opened the door to Hermione's room. He hadn't gone in since the break in, a few days past. The room still _smelled_ like her, soft and gentle and sweet. He made his way to her bed, and reached out to touch the wooden canopy posts. Then, abruptly, he turned away and exited, closing the door behind him. Grimly, Lucius headed to his study. He had a long night of planning ahead, and had no time to spare for emotions.

***

A/N: Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed. And kudos to anyone who recognizes the song lyrics :-D


	12. Calling

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately

Special thanks go to:  
Madam Thalia--I love stories from the "dark" side's POV...glad you like this one!  
Painelust--thanks!  
RileyAnastasia--here's a hint: joni mitchell, her earlier work  
loveismagic--I hope they get her back soon too!  
kleipoppetje--why, thank you. cannot wait to write more!  
xMusicGurlx--haha, I updated!  
DefyingGravityElphaba--Hermione's nature is dark...but she is not necessarily evil :-D  
Darkness-Lightness--thanks :-)  
LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL--I'm glad you do!  
Emeloo2--Thank you!  
Luciun Weasley-Oog--glad I could clear up some confusion...hope you like this chapter!

just to be clear, the opening bit is about the others, remember them?

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The forest is old. It is always Winter there, always frost and white and silence. The air is still and scentless; it is home to no animal of feather or scale, hoof or claw. The place has never known the touch of rain, or the sweat of the sun...and, for the past thousand years, it has not felt the brush of movement, nor the stirring to mark any creature's passing. It is called _Thrangdül_ in the Old Tongue, though knowledge of it has faded from mortal memory.

But there is a trembling in _Thrangdül_, a rustling in the trees. Gradually, a thrumming can be heard through the web of our world, as though foreign beings were striking repeatedly the Veil, the one gate barring our universe from all the others.

_Thrum._

They have found a weakness in the Veil, a snag in the fabric of reality.

_Thrum_.

Shapes are visible, emerging from another world, a different time, shimmering faintly against the gray trees. They are silent at their task, no screaming or frenzy...only solemn, unyielding determination.

_Thrum_.

The sound grows closer, louder, hungrier.

_Thrum_.

_Oh_! They are hungry!

_Thrum_.

At last the Veil breaks, sounding a long _crack_ that echoes dully across the very foundations of Earth.

And for a single, breathless moment, every living creature on Earth knows the taste of utter chaos, and cries out, afraid, alone, untested.

_Thrum_!

They are coming.

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Hermione hesitated in an aisle of the Hogwarts Library. She was suddenly caught, as though held in a dream, gazing at the scene before her: Harry and Ron had found their table already, and were presently deep in their quidditch conversation. She heard other students groan over their notes, grumble curses over a professor, a subject, or a test. She saw Madame Pince stalk about, peering beadily over the hunched shoulders of studying Slytherins, or tsking loudly at rambunctious Hufflepuffs. The strict librarian shot a withering glance at one particularly giggly Gryffindor Fourth Year, who collapsed into her seat, smothering a fresh bout of laughter into her sleeve. It all seemed so normal, so _mundane_, that she almost wanted to cry. _These students, these people,_ Hermione thought bitterly. _They know nothing_. She pitied them. She envied them.

Hermione bit her lip. She couldn't work here; it was too distracting. Grabbing her school bag and a stack of books, the witch made her way to her dorm room. After drawing on a second pair of stockings, she pulled a thick green jumper over her wool dress, and wrapped a heavy cloak and scarf about her shoulders. Grabbing her dragon leather gloves and boots, the girl strode across the castle grounds to the Lake. She always found solace there.

Though it had begun to snow, the flakes were light and soft, barely visible in the afternoon light. Hermione stopped by what she had come to think of as "her" willow, and laid out a blanket on the hard mossy rock beneath it. She could lean against the tree and let her legs dangle over the edge, just barely reaching within an foot of the water. Hermione rested her head in her hands, letting tears come. She had been at Hogwarts for a few months already, and she had tried, so, so _hard_ to go back, to live her life again. But she had crossed the river, and once on the other side, she couldn't find her way back. She couldn't forget. She couldn't forget, because the water had gained depth, and to resume life as though it had never happened rang hollow and trite in her mind. And then the thought gleamed sure as the sunset in her mind: _I don't belong here, not when I know of another way.__ My place isn't in this reality_..._  
_

She had started to study her Potion's text when something prickled her spine, and she glanced up. Across the Lake, she could just make out the figure of a man, tall and slender. She blinked, and leaned forward. _Why, he looks so fair. Almost like--_Hermione drew back so quickly, she lost her balance and slipped, silently, into the dark waters--_Lucius_.

Blackness closed over her head. She sank, made heavy by her boots, her cloak. Hermione fumbled vainly to remove them both, but it was so dark and bitingly chill, she was falling deeper into those unforgiving depths, she'd be lost and alone with the night, and--_Lucius_!

She knew nothing more.

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_Arms, warm, soft, gentle. A woman's hands eased off her waterlogged boots, removed the soaked scarf and cloak. The woman leaned over to remove her wet jumper, and a lock of her hair brushed Hermione's cheek. She awakened inside a dark room, with a blazing fireplace in the centre._

She stared into bottomless eyes. Hermione blinked again. Her lips were dry and rough, so she moistened them with her tongue. "Bellatrix?" Her voice cracked. "I thought I'd..." she trailed off as memory returned. Hermione shrank back, then, afraid. "What do you want?"

"Only to help you, Hermione." Bella said evenly. "Can you sit up fully?"

Hermione held back sudden tears, and nodded. The woman drew her wand--Hermione flinched--but only dried her clothes and wrapped a bear's fur about the girl's shoulders.

"Where am I?"

"I brought you to a small cabin, near the castle." Bellatrix let her hands slide to cup the younger witch's cheeks. Her palms were pleasantly warm. "They won't miss you till the morning, and you'll be back then, as though you never left."

Hermione relaxed slightly, and watched as Bellatrix rose and left the room, returning a moment later with a steaming bowl of soup. Wordlessly, she handed it to Hermione, who devoured it hungrily. When she was done, Hermione put the dish aside, biting her lip.

"I...I aught to thank you," she began haltingly. "I don't know how you knew to come, but...well. I'm quite relieved you were there, in any case."

Bella inclined her head.

A long moment passed, before Hermione ventured a question. "May I ask why?" She shivered, and squirmed deeper under the bear fur.

Bellatrix, who had been gazing into the fire, turned to the girl, as though startled she would ask, and said simply, "Because I knew you needed me." She shook her head. "More than that, Hermione. I knew you wanted me to come."

"But how?" Hermione whispered.

"The darkness in you yearns for a release, Witch. I heard you calling long ago. I just needed to wait until _you_ knew that you were calling too." Bellatrix moved closer. "But now is not for questions. You must sleep again, _Necromancer_, for you are safe here. Sleep now..."

She kissed Hermione once, and the girl's chilled bones grew warm; she kissed her again, and Hermione forgot her fears; and then she kissed Hermione a third time, and the girl felt her eyes shut, felt herself sink under the heavy sea of sleep.

She awoke in the night, and found herself lying in her four poster canopy bed in her Hogwarts dormitory, with something heavy clenched in her left hand. Too weary to worry, Hermione closed her eyes.

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Early sun passed over her face, and Hermione groaned and rolled over. Her cheek pressed against cold metal, and she awoke fully. Curious, the girl sat up, and examined the object. It was a wooden box, worked with bronze, and small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. She swallowed, and thrust it under her pillow, determined to resist the temptation to open it, at least for a while.

Hermione used her wand to open a speech spell with Madame Pomfrey, and informed her that she was ill and could not attend classes, but wished to remain in her own dormitory. The nurse came over at once, and after a mere glance at the girl, immediately conceded (though not before making Hermione promise to take all the potions she sent up). When she had gone, Hermione crept over to her mirror, interested to know why Madame Pomfrey had seemed so concerned. It wasn't too hard to guess. The delicate skin under her eyes seemed bruised; her face was white as frost; and she shivered still, even warm in her nightgown and blankets.

Finally, Hermione succumbed to her curiosity, and slipped her hand under her pillow and grasped the mysterious box. It was octagonal in shape, gently curved, with a jasper violet set into the lid. _Is it a jewelry box_? She wondered. _Or perhaps something else_? It opened in her hand, revealing two miniature waltzing figures: a young woman, with a wild mane of chestnut curls; and the man fair and handsome in forest robes. And the sound of a lullaby--her lullaby--that Lucius had always sung...Hermione caught her breath. _Oh..._

Painted artfully around the dancing figures were trees, green and high against the night sky. And the moon..._his eyes are the moon_, Hermione realized.

And then she caught sight of the engraving on the back. It read:

_Dream violet dreams, my darling, for I'll place the moon within your heart..._

Hermione clutched the music box to her heart, and dreamed of violet fields and songs and laughter, waltzing under the Summer moon.

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Thanks for reading, and again, kudos to those who recognize the lyrics. They're from a favourite movie of mine...


	13. In the Heart of Winter

Disclaimer: Again, not mine.

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Deep in _Thrangdül_, a portal has opened. The air is heavy and thick with hard anticipation. There are seven figures waiting to come through the window; they savor their moment--their triumph!--at unlocking the portal to Earth.

The first creature reaches his hand through the portal, and then steps carefully through it. He is a youth, tall and slender and fair, and he carries with him a violin, gently coloured and perfectly formed. His eyes are bright as he draws in a breath, his first taste of air for centuries. His name is Elledan, and he is the Lord of Illusion.

The next figure makes his way through; like Elledan, his eyes gleam at the sight of Earth, though he craves carnage above all else, for his blackest joy is warfare. He is called Ulroarch, and in his right hand is a mace, spiked with glass shards and thorns; his left hand grasps a broadsword, black with old blood.

Valgerion appears third, lean and cloaked. His hands are empty, for emptiness is what he brings. His gaunt face and gaunt fingers forever seek more, to be filled; he is always hungry, always consuming.

And then comes the Lord of Malady, Einwuld, with his iron staff and clawed hands. His eyes are hooded, and blacker than sin. Everything he touches withers, loses all trace of colour and life and light. And he laughs as he kills, soft as a lover's kiss.

Fifth in the the Black Company is Yaltanor, who delights above all things in betrayal, of couples, brothers, friends. The angles of his face are harsh and sly; and his passing is always marked with lies.

An-Ombar steps through. He is the Lord of Fear, skillfully weaving webs of unease among his victims, before closing in for the kill. He above all is the enemy of judgment.

And then last is Yarablain, the raven-haired Lord of Despair. He moves noiselessly, feet bare on the hard earth, slipping easily in and out of the shadows.

They are the Others, and they have been hungry for one thousand years. The creatures move in separate directions, each to claim his share, each to his own dark purpose.

Yaltanor, the Lord of Betrayal, searches the world hungrily for his first victim. His eyes rest upon a young woman, a _Necromancer_ of terrible power, but of the greatest love. A worthy prize. He smiles thinly, and drifts closer to her, watching, waiting.

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It was on the third day after her encounter with Bellatrix that Hermione made her decision. It would hurt terribly, she knew, but what option wouldn't bring pain? So she rehearsed her words to Harry and Ron, again and again, each time sounding more and more different. In the end, she decided simply to tell them the truth--if only partially. When the right time came, after classes that Friday, Hermione ushered the boys outside.

"I'll tell you in a minute, Harry, we just need to find somewhere private, like..." The truth was, Hermione hadn't considered exactly _where_ she would tell them. _Tell them what_? Hermione thought desperately. _That their supposed best friend of years has betrayed them_? But she wouldn't try to justify her decision, only explain it.

Hermione hesitated a moment, trying to decide where to go; and then the answer was in her mind, as though she had known from the beginning. She led them on a brisk walk to the Lake, their breaths leaving frosty plumes in the chilled air. She stopped at a small clearing on the bank.

"I suppose here will do," she said, her voice sounding strange and hollow.

Harry fixed his gaze on her. "Hermione, what's going on? You've been acting strange the last couple days." There was concern in those green eyes, and Hermione had to stifle her tears. "Tell us," he pleaded.

She took a deep breath. "Yes, well...I never did tell you what happened while I was at Malfoy Manor. You didn't ask, so I just...let it go." She bit her lip. Harry and Ron looked at her expectantly, trustingly. She knew she had to make them understand, so she forced herself to continue.

Hermione spoke of everything save her feelings for Lucius: of her initial plan to let the Dark Lord think he was in control, how she had blocked her mind from his probing gaze. In a quavering voice she described Voldemort, his eyes that made her feel naked before him, those spidery fingers, that hungry mouth. Ron reached out for her, clasping her hand in his larger ones.

And then she recalled quietly the morning workouts, how Lucius had been teaching her wandless magic, and broomless flying. She told Harry and Ron of the power she had felt. She told them what she was.

Ron's hands slipped from her own. He looked quizzically at her. "A _Necromancer_? Dad says they don't exist anymore."

"They haven't," she responded. "Not for a long time, anyways." She swallowed. "It all fits, Ron. And it feels right, I...I know it's me."

Harry's eyes searched her own. "Hermione, that's...that's pretty dark stuff. I mean, _Slytherin_, almost. Not that I'm saying that's what you are," he said quickly, "Just what it seems like..." He trailed off uncertainly.

"I know, Harry," Hermione managed, feeling a lump in her throat. She wiped away tears. "I'm _not_ evil, I still love you both. But you have to know what I learned while I was there. I don't think that all dark magics are wrong. I know they're not! I've thought about this for so long, I wish you could understand. The Dark Lord isn't...well, he's not exactly what he's been made out to be. I saw a true general, there, Harry, a true leader. And the Followers aren't rapists and cold-blooded killers. They have moral codes, ethical standards. They know love."

Hermione echoed the words Lucius had spoke to her so long ago, feeling the familiar ache in her chest. She drew on her love like an anchor, let it guide her speech. The witch spoke of her lessons with Bellatrix, how terrifying she seemed at first, but then, how Hermione had soon realized that the woman was an artist, a teacher and mentor who searched for truth above all things. "She--Bella--looks at life, not as it seems, but as it actually _is_, its essence...she sees into the heart of things." She described the other Followers, each individual's quirks, why they made her laugh and listen and grow.

Hermione was hoarse by the end. Harry and Ron let her finish, waiting until her words sputtered and finally halted. Harry seemed grim; but it was Ron who drew back. His face was hard.

"They manipulated you, Hermione, they tricked you! You have fallen from the path..." He looked at her beseechingly. "You must remember that!"

"Ron," she began, her heart breaking, "This is me, it's who I _am_. How they live, the discipline, the quest for knowledge...and I am a _Necromancer_."

But he was shaking his head. "There are only light and dark, Hermione. It is our actions that define us, _only_ our actions. Chose now: betray them, or betray us. _Chose_." The last word sounded stiff as stone in the air, and hung between them like a cliff.

"I'm not betraying _you_," she said carefully. "Just what you think is right, what you believe is the only way. But it's not! There are so many different paths to take, and not all of them evil! If the Order and the Dark Lord could but realize that we have a common foe, we could join forces to defeat the Great Enemy!" Hermione touched his hand. "There are forces at work in the world that are _truly_ evil, pure and inherently evil. Forces that seek, even now, to destroy us all. We could _help_ one another."

Ron grew cold then, and stood up. "I see you've decided, then." He said viciously. "Go on, _leave_. We don't want Death Eater's at Hogwarts!"

"Ron--" Hermione began, but he was already pulling Harry to his feet.

But Harry brushed Ron off impatiently, still unconvinced. "Who is this 'Great Enemy'? I thought that was Voldemort."

"No," she answered. "There is a deeper, older magic that existed even before him. It hates the world: the muggleborns and muggles and purebloods alike; it despises the air we breath and the life in our limbs. It seeks to corrupt us, every one...Harry," Hermione cried, "You know how much I care for you and Ron; I want us to finish this together!"

Ron was not mollified. "She has forgotten her friends," he spat. "So let us forget her!"

Hermione looked into his heart and saw anguish; he had loved her fiercely and without doubt; her decision bore down on him like fire. She gazed into his eyes, so blue and young, and she said: "I love you, Ron. I love you for your passion and your loyalty and your dream of a better world. I love you for your love for me and Harry...and for your conviction. But hear me now: there may be one direction to the Light...but there are many paths that can lead there, if you let them. Let me show you, Ron. Let me take you."

But she knew it wasn't enough. He backed away.

And suddenly, sickeningly, Hermione knew that something was _wrong_. Something approached the Boy-with-Flaming-Hair from behind, something cold and with murder in its heart...

She was screaming.

Everything happened slowly: Harry, noticing the attack, lunged in front of her, pushing her back, covering her eyes so she couldn't see the thing that should not exist, _did_ not exist, as it tore into Ron's mind, devouring with greedy pleasure his grief and agony. Harry, still in shock, turned and ran, dragging Hermione behind him. She turned one last time, stunned, and saw those blue eyes, still open, saw him collapsing slowly, slowly, to the earth...she saw the light in him wither and fade...

And she screamed, still sprinting.

And she screamed.

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Whew! Thanks for reading...now please review.  
And if you're confused about anything, don't hesitate to ask!


	14. Isolation

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately

Thank you to all you wonderful, magnificent reviewers!! You keep me writing this!!

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An-Ombar is hungry. The Lord of Fear had feasted, naturally, upon his release, but it was a poor meal: three lost campers backpacking through the Western Mountains, half starved and mad already. No. It certainly wouldn't do. His belly is full, but he needs sustenance; now he yearns to hunt.

He closes coal eyes, and inhales, expanding his threshold, feeling the entire world spin around him. And he stops. Finally opening his eyes, An-Ombar smiles, and his teeth gleam like eyes in the darkness. Ah, yes. There is a mortal, one whom he had played with before...she has grown, though, and gained strength. She will be a challenge.

He hunts.

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Lucius Malfoy had never been one for sentimentality. So when his sister Elena had suggested a gift for Hermione, he'd scoffed. But once he'd thought the idea through, he changed his mind. The music box he carved himself was no small token; on the contrary, it was a terribly powerful gift, worked with dozens of spells. The jasper inlay would protect the girl against many terrors of the night, as well as ease general stress. More significantly, however, the scene Lucius had painted around the waltzing figures--of forest trees and cool, quiet Night--was entirely real, and if Hermione were in the presence of great danger, it would transport her safely there. Providing, of course, that the box were in contact with her skin.

But Hermione didn't know that, so when that _demon _attacked her young friend, all she could have done was run. Lucius shuddered at the memory. The Dark Lord himself had been made uneasy when Lucius and Bellatrix informed him of the incident._ What was it he said?_ The wizard frowned. _He seemed to recognize the description...I'll have to read up on it.  
_

Lucius had known, instinctively, that it was this demon who had been causing Hermione's nightmares, as sure as he knew that warmth was good and ice was cold. Yet it had taken Voldemort more time to connect the dots and reach the conclusion. He shrugged, and fiddled with the pendant which hung about his neck. _No matter. There's nothing, _nothing_, that can harm Hermione, not now._

With that thought, Lucius Apparated to the grounds surrounding Hogwarts. The air was bitingly chill; and no students roamed the old paths or the forest...even the Lake was deserted. Though the majority of Hogwarts students hadn't a clue as to the real events surrounding Ronald Weasley's death, they seemed to be intuitively wary, as though sensing the presence of some great evil. A cloud hung over the castle, grey and brooding. _And not a soul or speck of life out here in this Wasteland..._

Ah, but no. He was wrong, Lucius realized: two students sat together by the nearly-frozen Lake. They each were grim, eyes dark and haunted by sights that should never have been seen. The boy put his arm about the girl, and stroked her back; she buried her face into his chest. Lucius realized with a pang that Hermione had once thrown her arms about _his_ neck like so, and wept into his heart. Now it was the young man Harry Potter who offered her comfort, who shared in her grief, and accepted her tears.

The fair wizard melted into the trees; blending was a rather more _secret_ talent of his, though it had served him well over the years. For a moment he felt uncomfortable, watching such intimacy; but then he remembered it was his job, his _duty_ to protect this witch.

And then he was conflicted..._what do I want with her?_ He wondered. _Power? Comfort or companionship? _It was something he hadn't wanted to consider. When Hermione was with him, it felt..._right_. They fitted each other like the sea and the shore, each giving just enough to take some too. In the end, Lucius felt, it was simpler just to admit the truth: _I would watch her nonetheless. For what is duty next to honour? And what comparison is honour to love?  
_

"_Hermione_," Lucius sighed. "They know not I knew thee, who knew thee too well. Long, long shall I rue thee...too deeply to tell," he whispered into the fading light. From across the distance, Hermione turned her face, slowly, slowly, to his, almost as though she had heard his sigh, and Lucius felt his heart expand...

He fingered his pendant again, the key to Hermione's music box.

And then: _perhaps I am sentimental, after all_.

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Hermione sat numbly, still wrapped in Harry's embrace. It eventually occurred to her that they must be freezing, judging by the frost crystallizing in Harry's hair, or the light, floating feeling that was creeping up on her. Of course, that could still be from the shock. The pain of losing Ron hadn't set in yet; but that would come later.

She gently untangled Harry's hands from her hair, and looked into his eyes.

"You ready to go back?" Her words came hollow and thin in the wintry cold.

The wizard nodded. "We should talk, though." He sounded weary beyond words.

She eyed him searchingly. "About...which part?"

"What you said about true evil," he answered, emerald eyes solemn. "Like what...well, you know. What attacked Ron." The words hung in the air.

"So you're saying you want a...a truce with the Dark Lord? You want to be--"

"Allies. Nothing more. A common enemy can unite us. But I work _through you_, you understand?" Harry began walking towards the Castle. "You were a bridge between Ron and me," he added, with a strangled laugh. "And now you bridge this gap, too."

Hermione linked her elbow with his. "You're sure?"

"Yes," he said simply. "I think it's time for me to learn the truth..."

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It had been several days since Ron's memorial, since the thousand tears and embraces, the words of love and strength and friendship. All of Hogwarts, and many from Hogmeade had attended, offering their support where they could. Ginny, devastated as she was, had gone home to stay with her parents and the rest of the Weasley Clan.

Gradually, Harry and Hermione drew back from the other students, spending much of their time in the Library. Harry, true to his word, began to read in earnest everything Hermione set before him: heavy tomes on theology, philosophy, and psychology; he poured over books on old mythology and legends, devoured essays over the nature of good and evil. And Hermione began to work her way through the Wizarding Histories, consuming chapter after chapter of battles and strategies, alliances and societies.

She wrote to Lucius. It was a strange feeling, reaching out to him. Previously, he'd just, sort of _been there_ when she needed him.

_Harry and I are researching all we can about--well, about everything. I've stolen some ideas from you: Morning Workouts and ethical standards, and such. Been bridging the gap between all the holes in his education, if you know what I mean._

_Hope you're well. It wouldn't hurt to come see me sometime._

_Hermione_

_p.s. Lullabies help me sleep at night...I do love them.  
_

There. It was a brief letter, but it would alert him as to the situation--to her decision and Harry's--and was cryptic enough to avoid causing any trouble or suspicion. She sent it off with Hedwig.

She had just returned to the Gryffindor Commons from the Owlery when she felt a hand clamp around her shoulders and steer her to a corner table.

She swiveled around. "What the--"

"Shh!" Harry hissed. "Look what I found." He stabbed at a passage in a book. "Read this."

Hermione sat, and turned her eyes to the page:

_The Golden Mean_

_Perhaps the least well-known society of the Wizarding World, The Golden Mean was formed around the first century AD. The heart of the society's beliefs lie in three core values: symmetry, proportion, and harmony. This philosophy's concept of a 'balance' between two extremes formed the basis of the unity of two opposing forces: otherwise known as the Light and the Dark. Despite events surrounding the Pellesian Wars.--_Hermione skipped a few lines--_the wizards of the time found it necessary to join forces against a deeper, unknown enemy..._

"_Harry_," Hermione breathed. "Do you know what this means? We can--"

"Yes, yes," Harry replied impatiently. "I take it this is the first time you've heard of it?"

"Quite," muttered Hermione. "Though it fits...I mean, I had wondered about secret societies, but I never really thought..."

"I know. Do you reckon Dumbledore's heard of it?"

"I don't know. I'm going to the Library to look for more info...you coming?"

"It's almost _midnight_, Hermione. We're not allowed..." He trailed off when he realized Hermione had started to laugh.

"Sorry," she gasped. "But it's not as though that's ever stopped you before, is it?"

And then, even Harry couldn't repress a grin.

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_Hermione,_

_Lullabies help me sleep, too. Especially after I come in from the cold. I think I'll have supper around seven to-night._

_Violet dreams, my darling._

The note arrived early that morning. It, like Hermione' letter, was short and to the point. Hermione decoded it easily: he wanted to meet. Place? The cabin Bellatrix took her to after her unfortunate little tumble into the Lake. Time? Seven. How to get there? No idea. Could be problematic.

She took a closer look. Lucius had mentioned twice the music box...perhaps it would lead to further clues? Hermione bit her lip. She shared much with Harry, but there were certain things she would have liked to keep private. Naturally. Well, it didn't need to come to that.

Hermione headed back to the Commons, luckily seeing no one. She made her way directly to her room. Opening the hidden compartment in her desk, she brought out the tiny box that afforded her such comfort. As always, it opened in her hand, and began to play that soft, haunting tune...the witch frowned, and puttered through her desk to find a magnifying glass.

Half an hour later saw Hermione staring at the box cover in disbelief. The lines which comprised the jasper violet looked almost like--_No. Impossible..._

Inscribed into the stone was a perfectly clear, and, from the looks of it, accurate map of Hogwarts Grounds. And once she knew to look for it, there, disguised as a fugitive petal, was a delicately-formed representation of a small house, or cabin.

Hermione smirked, and left to find Harry.

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"They know not I knew thee, who knew thee too well. Long, long shall I rue thee...too deeply to tell," is a line from Lord Byron's _When We Two Parted_.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! As always, review...


	15. Home at Last

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately

I had less reviews last chapter...so please speak up if you don't like where this is going!! Hope you enjoy this chapter :-D

**

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At precisely seven o'clock in the morning, Hermione stood in the Boys' Dorm, scrutinizing the sleeping form of a boy with jet black hair. He lay on his side, mouth slightly open, snoring softly. The witch smiled fondly, and poked the boy's cheek with her index finger. He groaned.

"Harry," she breathed, "wakey wakey!" She prodded him again, harder, and watched in satisfaction as Harry groggily opened an eye.

"Wh' time is it?"

"Seven. I've been up for hours already." She perched herself primly on Harry's golden snitch-covered bedspread. "_Honestly_, Harry, it's not _that_ early. We've stuff to do!"

He slid awkwardly out of bed. "On a Saturday? Like what?" Harry's jaw cracked when he yawned.

"I thought we'd try some Occlumency, and before you say no, I've already figured out an easier way for you to try it," she pulled her most pathetic face at him. "just give it a try?"

Harry laughed. "Alright, alright. Turn around." Hermione obediently swiveled around and scrunched her eyes shut. After making sure she couldn't peek, Harry stepped into the jeans that had been crumpled under his pillow. "Okay,"

She cautiously opened her eyes, and continued. "And after that, we should do some more research on the Golden Mean." She watched as Harry ran his fingers through his untidy shock of hair. "And I'm due for supper with Lu-Mr. Malfoy. So we'd better--"

"What?"

She grimaced. Hermione had suspected she wouldn't be able to slip it past him, but she had tried anyway. "Mr. Malfoy--Lucius--has invited me to dine with him." Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Do you still want to go through with this?" She asked gently.

"Yes," he replied immediately. "Just...just give me some time to get used to it." He sighed. "I mean, until a few days ago, Death Eat--these people were, well, my _enemies_. They were bad, I was good, and everything was simple. I was happier, then."

Hermione didn't speak for a moment. Then she said in a high, wandering, tremulous voice, "I wish Ron were here."

Harry, who had been bent over a porcelain basin, splashing water onto his face, stopped, his back to her. The silence grew. He turned. Seeing Hermione's chin tremble, he gathered her into his arms. "I know. I do too, Hermione. I do too..."

She started to cry, then, and Harry rocked her back and forth. "I know, Hermione. It's not your fault, we couldn't do anything..."

Harry's bare arms and chest were strong and warm and familiar...but it wasn't enough. Hermione craved another man's touch. So she pulled away. "Sorry, Harry. Sometimes I just--" she bit her lip. "I just get overwhelmed." She wiped her eyes, and said wetly, "Meet you in the Room of Requirement in fifteen?"

He understood, and smiled that crooked half-smile Hermione knew so well. "See you then, Hermione."

He watched her brokenly from the door until that mane of curls whipped out of sight.

**

*

Hermione and Harry were soon settled on squashy chairs. The Room of Requirement had provided what was, for all purposes, a library, octagonal in shape, and smelling of parchment and dust and still, cool air that hadn't been breathed in years.

"Okay," she said, all business. "Professor Snape told you to clear your mind, make it blank and empty, yes? But that's certainly not natural. Those who will try to break in to your thoughts will _know_ you're hiding something--and they'll only slam your defenses again and again, until you're too rattled to defend yourself. You still with me?

Harry nodded, brow furrowed.

"So we have to be clever about this, Harry. Your goal is to fool them in to _thinking_ they got the information they wanted. Perception is everything. Whether you think something _is_ or is _not_, that something isn't going to change to fit your beliefs. Simple, right?"

"I...I guess so. You're saying we just have to pass on false memories?"

The witch raised an eyebrow. "Something like that. But remember, the greatest falsities have their basis in truth. It's easiest to pick a memory, a real one, and alter it a bit." She clapped her hands. "But we'll get to that in a bit. First thing's first."

Hermione leaned forward and peered into Harry's eyes. He shifted, uncomfortable with the close contact. "What're you doing?"

"You trust me, don't you? I'm showing you my thoughts, Harry. Shh."

Harry took a deep breath, and looked at her eyes--_more cinnamon that brown, really_--and felt her draw him in. Without warning, he tumbled, face first, into that keen mind, and wondered, briefly, if he would get out alive.

He'd expected a library. Instead, they were standing in what looked like Diagon Alley. Harry blinked owlishly, and Hermione grinned. "Welcome to my laboratory," she said, pronouncing it like the old cartoon character Dexter.

Harry smirked."So this is it? Truly?"

Hermione grinned slyly. "Not what you were expecting?"

"Not exactly," he laughed. "Well? Lay on, Macduff."

Hermione grew serious again. "Alright. I chose Diagon Alley for a couple reasons. It has, more or less, every store a wizard needs, almost any object one could require; so it's easy, then, to transfer and attach memories here. Also--and this is important, Harry--there are all sorts of nooks and crannies where I can conceal information I don't want others to see." She shot him a sideways glance, then added, "If you were using Legilimency to access my mind, you wouldn't see Diagon Alley. Only I would."

Harry paused. It was a lot to process. "So I can build a place like this, whatever I imagine it to be? And I just visualize hiding secrets?" He was beginning to wonder why Snape hadn't explained it _this_ way to him.

"In a nutshell, yes. But it will take loads of effort, Harry, and you must practice _every day_." She was regarding him very intently, and Harry nodded again. "Now I'm going to take you back into your real body." Harry watched her bite her lip in concentration, and then felt himself fall, backwards this time, into a rushing sound. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they had returned to those squishy chairs in the Room of Requirement.

Hermione sighed in satisfaction. "So practice these visualizations for a while." She laid her head back.

"What are you going to do?" asked Harry curiously.

"I," Hermione announced, standing up and stretching, "I am going to begin researching this 'Golden Mean' society." The steely glint Harry knew so well was back in her eyes. "Concentrate, Harry. And remember, I will know if you fall asleep."

He sensed a smile behind her words. "Thanks, Professor McGonagall." He leaned back grinning.

**

*

Six-thirty that evening saw Hermione in her dorm, wearing a dress of thick blue wool, with a matching full-length cloak. She wore her dragon-hide boots again, and fastened her hair securely with pins. Hermione, unaccustomed to primping, took a final glance at her reflection in the mirror. _I suppose this is as good as it's going to get_, she scowled. With her wand safely in her sleeve, and the music box hidden in a small velvet pouch under her cloak, she set off.

She had memorized the path to the cabin, naturally, and set a swift pace. Lucius, she knew, did not appreciate tardiness.

**

*

Although he had implied they would meet at seven o'clock, Lucius arrived at the little cabin well before half-past six. Hermione, if nothing else, was a punctual creature, and he wanted to look his best.

He knew (the Malfoys had always taken a certain concern with their appearances) that the colour green brought out the gray in his eyes; but this night, he chose to wear white. Purity, he felt, was a nice concept to strive for. And it couldn't hurt that the cut of the robes emphasized the breadth of his shoulders--

_Dear Merlin. I've become more conceited and delusional than a Griffindor. Me, angelic? Get a grip..._

He had just decided to change, when a firm knock came at the door. Lucius stood, ran his hands over his face, and composed himself. He turned the knob, and the sight that greeted him stole his breath away.

The witch's cheeks were red and flushed from the cold, and the wind had been at her hair, so that soft tendrils framed her elfin features. Her cinnamon eyes were piercing as ever, and Lucius thought he saw a small smile play about those rosebud lips as her eyes danced over his white robes.

Suddenly self conscious, Lucius cleared his throat, and opened the door wider. "Hermione," he said stiffly. "It's good to see--"

She rolled her eyes, and launched herself into his arms, pressing her forehead into his neck. "I've missed you," she said breathlessly.

Lucius was momentarily shocked. Gathering himself quickly, he wrapped his arms about her slender frame, and rested his cheek against her head. Closing his eyes, he whispered, "I missed you too. Hermione..." He pulled back to glimpse her face. "You've no idea..."

She snuggled more firmly into his chest in response.

At last, Lucius remembered himself. He drew back and took her hand. "Shall we Apparate to my home, then?"

Hermione was startled. "You mean, we aren't eating here?"

"Good heavens! No, Hermione, this little cabin might topple over if the wind huffed and puffed enough. You're alright, I trust, with dining at my manor?

"I suppose. We have much to go over, to be sure, and we'll be more comfortable there..." She shook her head dismissively. "Of course, of course you're right." Hermione gave his hand a little squeeze. "You ready?"

With a rush, the two disappeared. When Hermione opened her eyes, they were at Malfoy Manor, just outside the Dining Hall. _So familiar_, she thought, looking around at the vaulted ceilings, the tall windows, the marble floor tiles. _I return to greet an old friend_...

A house elf appeared at the door. "Mr. Malfoy and Madam," it squeaked solemnly. "Dinner is served."

**

*

The wizard imperiously waived away her questions about the Dark Lord as they ate. "All that business is for after supper. We shall speak of more appropriate subjects at the table." So Hermione concentrated on the delectable courses arriving from the Kitchens: tender meats, vegetables so gently cooked they melted in the mouth, and breads, steaming and fragrant with herbs.

Lucius was all charm and laughter, cutting the finest portions of meat for Hermione, telling her of his travels in the East.

"They have the most peculiar styles there," he said, placing venison on her plate. "The women dress fairly well, but the men--now listen to this!--the men will often slather bear grease into their mustachios, so they stick straight out, like this," he demonstrated with an exaggerated twirl of his fingers. "I once saw a man whose mustachios stuck out three feet on either side. He couldn't even walk through the doorway!"

Hermione giggled. "Couldn't he just turn his head?"

"Well," replied Lucius, "not exactly. You see, this man was so terribly vain, that he had caught his reflection in one of the silver wall hangings, and he just couldn't _possibly_ tear his eyes away from it!" He paused.

"And?" Hermione prompted. "What happened?"

He shook his head mournfully. "Why, that magnificent mustachios of his collided with the wall, and he toppled backwards onto his dainty derriere!"

Hermione was laughing so hard she couldn't breath. Lucius watched her for a moment, a smile curling his lips, and then he joined in too.

The rest of the supper passed away in much the same fashion. Lucius fed her sweet morsels himself, and asked her which of the numerous secret passageways in Hogwarts were her favourite. Her delighted merriment rang out into the Hall, which had been so silent for so long.

Later, with goblets of sweet honeyed wine, the conversation turned to business. Hermione told Lucius everything: of how she explained to Ron and Harry her decision; the attack, and the memorial afterwards; and then about Harry, and his determination to seek the truth. Lucius listened raptly to it all, occasionally asking for clarification, or inserting some commentary. They spoke late into the night, discussing the Golden Mean society, the Seven Demon Lords of ancient legend, the Dark Lord's plans. Finally, after a few hours, Hermione remarked sleepily that she aught to be getting back to Hogwarts.

"In a moment, Hermione. Won't you come out to the gardens with me again? It's still quite lovely, even in Winter."

She hesitated an instant, then nodded. Hermione accepted his hand. Her breath frosted in the night air. "I've missed this place." Lucius caught her gaze, and let his mouth curve into a rather feral smirk. The smile held a kind of dissonance for Hermione: his garb was pure white, the colour of innocence and youth...but his expression bespoke the lie: that hungry gaze was predatory, in an entirely appealing manner that made Hermione, for once, acutely aware of her feminine side.

He led her out onto the Grounds, into that field where they had sat together that early autumn. The violets were gone, but a trace of the scent remained. The grass, saturated in magic, was still green, and crunched lightly under their feet.

Lucius took her into his arms. "I've waited so long for you, Hermione," he said quietly. "The Manor is empty without you." His voice was gentle, though it contained a strange, harsh quality.

Her heart melted as she looked up into his eyes. The icy grey had vanished, leaving nothing but earnest truth. He was offering himself to her, Hermione knew. Hesitantly, she reached up and touched his cheek, feeling the slightest hint of a beard, and ran her fingers through that silky hair.

"Oh, _Lucius_..." she murmured, caressing the name with her voice. "In thy face I see the map of honor, truth and loyalty," her hands came to rest on his chest. "And that is more than I might have hoped for..."

Hermione breathed in sharply, as heat suddenly surged through her body. Lucius was so close, so close. She could see every colour in his eyes, feel the hardness of his shoulders, the warmth of his breath on her face. She looked into his eyes, their lips almost touching...

And then, infinitely, achingly slowly, he laid a kiss upon her jawline, just in between the cheek and the neck, and where his mouth touched, her skin burned like fire.

She tilted her head back, closing her eyes.

_Lucius..._

Every part of her, thighs, hips, and chest, were crushed tightly against his own. Hermione uttered a soft cry, feeling Lucius raise her off her feet to hold her even more closely to him...

_Oh, Lucius..._

**

*

Oh Lucius, indeed! "Lay on, Macduff" and "In thy face I see the map of honor, truth and loyalty" are each Shakespeare.

Thank you so much to all of you who read this! And double thanks to those of you who also review!

Reviews=love  
love=faster updates

Blessings!


	16. A Pensive Night, A Fearful Night

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately

**

*

On Wednesday of the next week, Hermione was slumped over her textbooks in the Library. Late evenings were the the only time she could dedicate exclusively to her schoolwork; the rest of the day's hours were filled with attending classes, tutoring various classmates, teaching Harry, and researching her new project. Her marks, as ever, were immaculate; professors wrote beaming comments on her essays, praised her spellwork, openly delighted with their star pupil. And if any one of them noticed the dark circles under her eyes, or that she only wrote six extra inches on her papers instead of a foot, none of them mentioned it.

She had settled into this routine, even drawing comfort from the repetition. Days passed in a blur, as they had, for the most part, since Hermione had returned to Hogwarts. It wasn't until she stood in front of a mirror, still dripping soapy water after her bath, that Hermione realized how much she had changed.

Some of it was a side affect of her Morning Workouts, which she followed religiously. Ropy muscles were clearly defined in her arms and legs and stomach; Hermione, who had previously been inclined to a sort of healthy, attractive plumpness--full, rosy cheeks, softly rounded thighs--was suddenly hard and lean, the bones of her hips and shoulders visible even through her clothes.

Yet it was her own face that frightened her the most. Hermione relaxed her lips, which had been pressed in a firm line, unclenched her jaw, and softened the lines that marred her brow. Her gaze had formerly been solemn at most; now Hermione's eyes seemed heavy and shadowed, as though they had looked into the heart of winter. Grim purpose dominated her expression now, instead of the carefree bossiness with which Hermione cheerfully earned her reputation.

_Where has that girl gone? Who loved so well the dream of an honest world, who yearned for beauty and love and poetry? The girl who believed in justice and stories?_ Hermione knelt in front of the lavatory mirror, unable to bear the sight of herself. She had prayed, as a little child, to someday be a woman of infinite grace and charm, just like the ladies in the songs. She wanted to travel the world. To have gallant men toss her flowers and laughter, and have bards write of her adventures.

When she first mentioned this hope to her parents, they had exchanged amused glances. The second time, they shot her only a scornful look, and told her to concentrate on her schooling. And then, just after Hermione's ninth birthday, her parents sat her down for a serious chat. She needed to be able to support herself, they had said. Make a career, build a life. No more of those shining, golden fantasies, no more fairy tales. And so Hermione immersed herself in her studies. Always, she remembered priorities: education first, friends second. She was, if nothing else, a dutiful daughter...yet still, buried deep inside her mind, hidden from the rest of the world, that hope had burned constantly, giving her faith in Harry and Ron, encouraging her to follow them on their silly (and sometimes not so silly) adventures.

_I have destroyed that girl_, Hermione realized, tears slipping down her cheeks and evaporating in the steamy room._ False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu. Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew._

But then Lucius had happened along. The prince she'd imagined, a representation of all her parents believed to be wrong in a man. Despite being rather spacey and absent-minded, Lucius was brilliant: the right hand man of one of the finest leaders, a shrewd and dangerous warrior. He was also somewhat frivolous, mischievous, and he wore many, many masks. Yet his deepest nature was kind and good and noble. He was her gentle, courteous protector, who let her dream, allowed her to be free. Lucius, who encouraged her to change her way of thinking, who'd shown her a different side, a different shade of goodness. Hermione had been forced to reconsider all she'd been taught to believe without question. One of the most challenging tasks to complete...and Lucius hadn't left her side, but helped her through it.

He would love her fiercely, she knew. He would care for her if she took ill, fight through the ends of the world for her if she were lost; he would kill for her and die for her if it meant she would live. _But can I love myself enough to let him?_

**

*

The Professor's Refuge had been charmed to look like a beach: stretches of fine white sand, gentle sun, tall green trees shading rolling waters. McGonagall lounged languorously--in a decidedly un-McGonagallesque manner--the tips of her feet submerged in the clear water. She raised her head when she heard footsteps behind her.

"Septima," she yawned. "good to have some company. There's sustenance in the basket--help yourself."

Professor Vector sank into a sitting position by McGonagall. "Been here long?" She found a sack of rice cakes, and rummaged for a jar of peanut butter.

"Mmm," she agreed happily. "I need to let my hair down once in a while; here is the only place I can bring myself to do it." McGonagall opened one eye. "Come to think of it, I've never seen _you_ in here before, Septima."

Vector peeled her silver-streaked hair off her neck. "No. Actually, this is the first time I've set foot in this place." She found her peanut butter and a spoon, and began spreading it deliberately over a rice cake. "In fact, I was rather hoping you'd be here."

She said it lightly, but McGonagall knew her friend well enough to know something was wrong. She sat up. "What's troubling you?"

Vector shook her head. "Nothing, really. It's...well, it's about Granger again."

McGonagall grimaced. "She was worse this week."

"I do wish we...that is, can't we help in any way, Minerva? I know Albus doesn't want us to mention anything, but..." Her voice trailed off, and she rubbed her forehead. "I feel so _helpless_. And with the attack on young Mr. Weasley..."

The Transfiguration Professor looked almost vulnerable. "I know. Hermione and Harry are...well, Ron's death is hard enough for me. I can't even imagine what _they're_ feeling.

"Academically, Hermione's still at a level far above her classmates. But then I see her nodding off during lectures, or skipping meals, and I almost tell her to stop whatever she's doing and take a break." She twisted her hair back into it's customary bun. "I can't for the life of me understand why Albus is so adamant that we don't step in, but...well. There it is."

"You're right, of course." Vector finished chewing thoughtfully. "Albus always has it under control."

**

*

Hermione awoke, and looked around the Library, still groggy. The clock read nearly half past twelve, and all the other students had filtered out long ago, in search of social activities, midnight snacks, or warm, squashy four poster beds. There were books still stacked on the table in front of her, or scattered around her chair. Hermione wondered vaguely why Madam Pince hadn't told her to clear out, or at least organize her books, but she suspected the elderly librarian had simply forgotten.

Sweeping all her reading and notes into a corner, the witch started to make her way back to her dorm, when she drew her breath. A black shadow had appeared, blocking her exit. She palmed her wand, squinting in the dim light.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" Low laughter reached her ears. Hermione minutely relaxed her arm. "Bellatrix?"

"You would have been dead a while ago, Hermione Granger, if I had wished it. Has your training been for naught?"

Hermione scowled. "I'm in Hogwarts, in the _Library_ for Merlin's sake..." Her eyes widened. "Wh--how did you get in here?" Her bewildered expression seemed to amuse her companion, for the woman laughed again.

Bellatrix moved closer, until Hermione could just make out her features. She grew severe. "I asked a question, Hermione."

"I...well, I suppose I didn't think--"

"Precisely," Bellatrix said, voice hard. "You haven't been thinking. What are you doing?"

"Researching! Which involves loads of thinking," Hermione said indignantly. "and Harry's been at it, too. I've spent hours here, doing nothing else! My grades are suffering because I spend n--"

"Enough." Bella threw back her hood. "You're doing everything, always _doing_. When have you stopped to revise your plan? For that matter, Hermione, when have you taken the time to _plan_ at all?"

"I..." Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out.

The older witch filled the silence. "You _must_ remember your training!" Her voice gentled. "You'll wear yourself out with what you're doing, and what good will you be then?"

Hermione slid down the wall to hug her knees. "I just wanted to help, to do everything we might need..."

"I know," replied Bellatrix. She lowered herself until she could see the girl's eyes. "Now use that remarkable brain of yours and tell me where you made the first mistake." Seeing Hermione's confused expression, she added, "start the day Ronald was attacked."

"I don't know, I..." Hermione frowned. "I told Harry and Ron about my time at Malfoy Manor," she began uncertainly. "Was I too harsh? I--"

Bella raised a hand to stop her. "No. Go back in your memory, look for the _truth_, not just what you thought at the time."

"Okay," Hermione took a shaky breath. "The first thing..." _Think of where, when, and what, and why. _She visualized the day in her mind. Harry and Ron were following her out--_oh. Stupid. _"My first mistake was location." Hermione said clearly. "That kind of conversation should never have taken place outside, where anyone--or anything--might have heard us." She risked peeking at Bellatrix.

She nodded. "Good. What else?"

_Now _when_...what did I do wrong with timing?_ "Harry and Ron weren't too suspicious, I don't think," she began slowly. "I could have told them at a different time..." Bellatrix let her talk it out. "I needed to tell them both together, but...but I just told them the first chance I got. It would have been just before supper, so they would have been distracted. Plus it was a Friday. I suppose I sort of..._threw_ it at them."

Bella tilted her head. "Harry took to the idea fairly well though, didn't he?"

"It was Ron who was upset. He thought I was betraying him and Harry." Her voice wavered, but she forced tears down. Now was the time for logic, not emotion. _Think, Hermione. _What_ and _why_? I know I told them what I had to, but--_"Ron was upset when I told him I was a _Necromancer_. I should have explained that more fully before moving on. He needed to be broken in, like a..." she searched for the analogy. "Like training a horse. You don't expect them to understand all at once; you layer it on."

The older witch seemed pleased. "All these mistakes might have easily been avoided, it's true." She caught the witch's cheek in her hand. "It wouldn't have saved Ron, Hermione," Bella's eyes were gentler than Hermione had ever seen them. Her hand fell. "But it was careless. Very, very risky."

"I know." Hermione raised her chin. "It won't happen again."

"Now," Bella grew stern. "What mistake are you making, even now? Come on, girl, _think_!"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know! I've been working nonstop--" She closed her eyes, willed her mind to calm. What had she done? And then she knew: _it's what I _haven't_ been doing._ "I_ have_ been working nonstop, it's true. But on the wrong things. I've been so focused on helping everyone else, that I missed out on what I need to be doing."

"Go on," Bella's voice was impossible to read.

"Like I've been too busy finding all the _facts_, that I haven't been able to see the _truth_. I've been hiding." She paused, and a queer expression came into her eyes. "I've almost forgotten, as though I were thinking through a cloud. My head's all fuzzy." She stopped short with the realization. "Like when I started to forget Harry and Ron and Hogwarts." A note of fear crept into her voice.

Bella's voice was impassive, but her eyes belied her curiosity. "What did you forget?"

Hermione ignored the question. She rose to her feet and began to pace around the dim library. "I...I think I must be going mad. And when--" she licked her lips, "when Ron was attacked, I felt _something_ swell up inside, something that wasn't a part of me. No, that's not right." She held her head in her hands, as though urging herself to remember. "It was like another voice in my head, telling me to...to _do_ something. I can't remember..."

"Like what?"

"When you told me," Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard, "that it helped to unleash my power sometimes, do you remember? My first Morning Workout...but I feel like, if I do, I won't be able to take back control, because it won't be _me_ anymore..."

She didn't notice when Bella suddenly stiffened.

"Hermione," the woman's voice held no emotion, but her fingers twitched. "Can you come here a minute? Let me see you."

"What?" Hermione tried to dodge the woman, but her grip was steel.

"_Look at me_."

Hermione turned to face her. Their eyes locked.

And then Bellatrix sounded afraid. "Can you hear me, Hermione? Good. I need you to be here tomorrow, same time."

Hermione was confused at the sudden change. "What? Why? I though we needed to--"

"What we need is to meet tomorrow," said Bella tightly. "I'll expect you here." She softened, though still seemed troubled. "Get sleep tonight, Hermione."

With a final, quick glance into the girl's eyes, Bellatrix melted away into the shadows.

"Bellatrix!" Called Hermione. "Wait!" She illuminated her wand, but no one was there.

_What have I done?_

**

*

An-Ombar watches the girl. Confusion is scrawled clearly on her face, and in her eyes...he smiles, tilts back his head. _Fear_. It's creeping back, worming it's way skillfully through even the most hardened warriors. Yes, he is quite pleased, indeed. Perhaps some fun is now in order. _How about a game of cat-and-mouse before bed, little girl?_

He must start delicately, as though laying the final touches on a marble carving. He's played with this mortal before; he knows well where to tap into her fear. In his palm, he conjures visions of a cemetery, with stone angels and rough tombstones. He adds mist, yellowish, foul, thick. And then the she-creature, an exact replica of the girl before him, save for the eyes, which bleed black blood...

It is ready. The vision is angry in his grip, pulsating grotesquely, flipping colours rapidly from orange to red to brown. He raises his cupped hands to his mouth, and blows the vision to the girl. He settles back, Phase One of his game complete.

For all it's impatience, the vision drifts almost lazily to the girl, who is leaning against the wall. It caresses her cheek, brushes through that mane of hair, curls about her neck and shoulders. She senses the vision, and stiffens.

An-Ombar leans forward, the fierce predator anticipating a catch.

The girl's eyes are closed; the vision has trapped her in it's smoky net. She whimpers, eyes moving under lids. He watches in satisfaction as she slides to the floor, tears flooding down, hands wringing, convulsing. As she writhes on the floor, An-Ombar slips into her mind, probing until he sees the cemetery, that old nightmare she had tried so hard to forget.

And then abruptly, the vision ends. She lies there exhausted, panting like a small, terrified animal.

An-Ombar lets his glamour slip, just enough to make her aware of his presence. The girl opens her eyes, looks directly at him, though he knows she can't see him. Ah! The fear in her is _exquisite_. She backs against the wall, knees to her chest, so achingly vulnerable that An-Ombar can't help himself. He reaches long fingers to her cheek, grazing it softly, almost tenderly. She trembles under his touch like a leaf, those rosebud lips quivering; he draws back, chuckling.

_O, Mortal! Thou hast become mine own obsession!_

Hermione curls up when he leaves, too weary to do anything else but sleep, folded in the fetal position on the floor of the Library.

**

*

It was how Lucius had found her, after rushing to Hogwarts once Bellatrix had made her report. He knew she'd be in the Library, so he made his way directly there, face like a mask. When he threw open the door, he didn't see her at first. And then, eyes traveling over the limp form in the corner, he flew down the steps to her side.

Hermione's face was marble, tear-streaked. Her chest rose and fell so shallowly, that for a terrible moment, Lucius believed her to be dead. _Something was here,_ Lucius knew with chilling certainty. _Something cold, that reveled in pain..._

He ripped off his cloak, settled it grimly over the witch's unconscious form. He waited with her til dawn, fingers threading through her curls, her head on his lap. _Hermione..._

**

*

When Hermione awoke the next day, it was to the sound of her music box, playing softly near her head.

**

*

An-Ombar is quite the sadist, no? Thanks for reading!

For reviewers:

white demoness: Dumbledore is being sneaky, which he is very good at. Since I doubt this chapter explains too clearly why Hermione hasn't used her powers more, I'll just tell you: at this point, many want to prevent her powers, so Hermione's mind is being attacked from several different angles. Hope that helps :-D

Emeloo2: Voldemort is pretty much a sadist himself; He's brilliant, but quite fond of playing with people. So yes, be worried about his intentions. However, who's to say he won't join forces with Harry? Teehee.

RileyAnastasia: Ooh, I love the romance too :-P

To all other reviewers: Thank you so much! You are all the nutella on my toast!

"False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu. Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew." is from Sir Walter Raleigh._  
_

If reviewers are nutella, reviews = Elysium


	17. Common Ground

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately

Thanks to all reviewers! You keep me writing this!

**

*

"The Seven?" Hermione asked, fingers tracing the words on the heavy tome in her lap. They were alone in the Library--the other students had gone to bed--and Hermione's small voice seemed to echo in the stillness.

"The Old Ones, the Seven, Demon Lords," agreed Bellatrix. "However you choose to call them." Her eyes lingered over the piles of books which surrounded the pair.

Hermione reread the page, uncertainty marring her brow. "I hadn't read about them until now..._why_ hasn't it come up before?"

"You wouldn't have seen the topic in any books at Hogwarts, Hermione." Bella smirked. "Besides, the book you're trying to stare down is currently the only one in existence. The only one of it's kind ever written, I do believe." She added.

Hermione blanched.

Moving to the seat across from the girl, Bellatrix sobered. "That's another thing. Names are important, Hermione; if you can _name_ evil, you can defeat it. However--" The woman held a long finger to Hermione's lips, seeing the question forming. "However, these are not their true names, not by any stretch. No, those names are secret, and for all I can tell, they are lost as well."

There was a beat of silence. "Is there...is there no way to defeat them?" Hermione's clear eyes found Bella's darker gaze.

"I don't know." Bellatrix searched Hermione's face intently. "Swords and arrows cannot answer them, nor any curses I know of."

"So there's nothing? We're just meant to _let _them..." She trailed off, frowning in concentration.

"Hermione? What is it?"

The girl looked up. "You said curses. No _curses_ will harm them. But there are other magics, aren't there?"

"Countless other magics, to be sure." Bella looked thoughtful. "That could be worth looking in to. The first priority is to protect ourselves--right now, we need to defend, not attack."

Hermione let out a little laugh. "That goes against every Gryffindor principle I've been taught." She could have sworn she caught a ghost of a smile on her mentor's face, and added, "But I'm sure I can manage."

"It is my constant prayer that you do." Came the wry reply.

Hermione bit down another smile. "Anyway, what did you mean about _protecting_ ourselves? Like with--" She searched for the name--"Clearwater? Professor Lupin covered that back in Third Year."

"Perhaps. There exist some diseases of the body which cannot be fully healed, for example. The _symptoms_ can be treated, though."

"So we can't conquer these Seven Old Ones," Hermione said slowly. "But we can render them ineffective?"

"Precisely," the older witch replied. "That's your homework. Come up with a list, make charts, draw graphs...however you need to do it. Just find me ways to counter your symptoms, build a defense." She made to leave, but stopped at the door. "Oh, and I noticed you had taken an interest in politics?" She nodded to a stack of books resting on a corner of the table.

"Well, I...that is, I thought--" Hermione stuttered.

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Good girl." There was a peculiar glint in Bella's eyes. "I'll see you again soon, Hermione. Be ready."

"Oh," Hermione said, quickly rising out of her chair. "Okay. Thanks!" Hermione sat down again, and rested her head on her book. "Be safe," she whispered, even though she knew Bella couldn't hear her.

**

*

It was nearing dawn when Hermione collected her notes and made her way groggily to her dormitory. The conversation she had with Bellatrix the night before was fresh in her mind. _Something unnerved her...could the Seven be so horrid?_ They were, she knew. Of course, for who else would have stalked her in the dark, shown her those visions? She remembered those nights at the Manor, the nightmares. She'd wake, screaming, perspiring, wanting to retch...more often than not, Lucius had been there to hush her back to sleep. _What if I wake again, and everything's real, it's not just a dream, and...and he's not there?_

The Fat Lady was half asleep when Hermione stood in front of Gryffindor Tower. "Out late again, are you, Missy? Well don't stand there, give the password."

"Hear me roar," Hermione responded, a half smile quirking her mouth. The password--silly as it seemed--was perfect. _Gryffindors. Brave, but less subtle than a Lamborghini, and not half as slick._ Her feet took her up those familiar stairs, and before she knew it, Hermione was snoozing under scarlet and gold coverlets, one hand cupped around her music box.

**

*

Bellatrix made her way back to Lestrange Manor. Her lord husband was traveling across Europe on various missions for the Dark Lord, and the halls were silent as she slipped through to her chambers. Her servants had built up a fire, and the heat of it warmed her cheeks. Bellatrix stripped off her heavy robes, and draped a soft green robe about her shoulders. She sank down to the cushions by the fire, a pensive expression stealing across her features.

_Hermione Granger_, she mused, a smile pulling the corner of her mouth. _Such an perplexing little creature. Was I so eager, so engrossed in my studies while at Hogwarts? _Bellatrix gazed into the flames, remembering...

_They're in the Slytherin Commons, and it's far too late for any student to be up and about._

_She rolls her eyes. "Come off it, Lucius. I know I can do it." She tosses her hair--that absurdly uncooperative mane of curls--and brandishes her wand. "Try me again."_

_Lucius sighs, but assumes a dueling stance. Without warning, he flicks his wand and sends a nearby chair hurtling at the girl. _

_"_Reverto!_" She shrieks, and the chair halts mid-course, flying wildly at Lucius instead. _

_The pair exchanges a few more spells, before the fair-haired boy steps back. "Can't I go to bed yet Belle? I'm so tired, and really, we're destroying the Commons."_

_"No, Lucius, you can't! I've got to get this right," she snaps. Her eyes gleam with a feverish, desperate hunger. _

_But the boy is used to that maniac expression; it doesn't particularly alarm him. "We've been at it for hours," he points out coolly. "We'll go again tomorrow."_

_"Fine," Bellatrix huffs. "But before you go, at least tell me what to work on."_

_Lucius seems amused now. He twirls his wand idly about long fingers. "Fair enough," he drawls. "But you're not going to like it."_

_"Try me," the girl says impatiently._

_"Alright, Belle." He folds his arms. "You're mechanical. I see you always thinking the spell through, never _feeling_ it out."_

_"Am not mechanical! I had to think fast to stop those curses you sent, didn't I?"  
_

_"It's _intuition_ that you need," Lucius continues, raising his voice. "You're trying to figure out the exact impact your spell will have on me. It makes you slower, easier to predict."_

_Belle scowls, crosses her arms defiantly. She raises an eyebrow. "So?"  
_

_"You're the one asking my advice." He sighs again, and his voice softens. "Look, your wand isn't just some random thing__. It's an extension of _you_, part of your very being. Learn to use it naturally, like you would use your arms or hands."_

_"Fine," she concedes, albeit grumpily. Her gaze travels to her shoes, but then moves determinedly to the boy. "Thanks," she mutters grudgingly. "I am most grateful for your help." _

_Lucius curls his flaxen hair about his finger. His smile is smug, but genuine. "You're welcome. 'Night, Belle. Try to get some sleep." He turns to the couch, a delightful Slytherin green, and delivers a _thump_ to the dark boy snoring atop it. "Wakey wakey, Sev."_

_Belle can't help but smile fondly at the two boys as they yawn off to their dormitory. But she does it when she's sure they can't see her._

**

*

The next morning dawned bright and crisp. Hermione, accustomed to rising early, was up with the sun. She completed her morning ablutions, exchanged the jeans she'd been too tired to take off the night before with a fresh set of Gryffindor robes, and slipped down to the Commons to wait for Harry.

While she sat, Hermione pulled out a sheaf of parchment. She was drafting letters to high-ranking wizards and witches, both from Voldemort's Followers, and members of the Order of the Phoenix. She wanted to meet with each separately, and try to recruit them for the Golden Mean society. Or her re-imagining of it.

She had just finished copying the final invitation when Harry appeared, running a hand through his thick tangle of black hair. His robes were rumpled; she wondered how many times he had slept in them.

"Morning, Harry," said Hermione, amused.

"Mmm," he grumbled, then added something that sounded suspiciously like "Hungry. Now food-eat. Me."

Hermione took his elbow, shaking her head fondly, and guided him to the Dining Hall. Once there, Harry noticeably cheered at the sight of breakfast, and disappeared into his plate. Hermione finished her eggs in record time, poked Harry's head, and told him she was off to the Owlery. After he slowed enough to nod his understanding, the witch turned and headed to send the letters off, praying they'd all hear her out.

**

*

It had been Bellatrix who requested the meeting. It was a small group--consisting only of Bellatrix, Lucius, and Elena Malfoy--so they each added their own level of safety wards to envelop them. The precautions were not at all unnecessary; the atmosphere was grim, almost a putrid stench lingered, even in the confines of Malfoy Library.

"Even the air isn't right," Lucius had said while casting the wards. "And no sound of bird or beast all morning...it's unnatural."

Bellatrix and Elena were silent, each contemplating his words, as they cleared the sturdy round table, and ordered refreshments from the house elf Sqeek.

Elena was uncharacteristically grave. "I remember hearing of these _Others_ you speak of," she said to Bellatrix. "Nanny would tell us the stories, before our Governess stopped her." She exchanged a look with her brother. "They're not real, surely. Just a children's tale..."

"You know it's more than that, Elena," said Lucius, very gently. "Remember the book?"

When Elena paled, Bellatrix leaned forward. "What book?"

At Elena's nod, Lucius spoke. "When I was a boy, I found an old leather bound journal in our attic. Whether genuine or not, it documented the search of two young men for the Others. Or," he added, "Creatures remarkably similar to descriptions of the Others."

He paused as Sqeek entered, bearing a tray of comestibles: bread and marmalade and berries, with jugs of sweet red wine. The house elf placed fresh wood by the fireplace in the center of the room, then bowed his departure.

Bellatrix poured goblets for her companions. "Well? Were they successful?"

Elena was the one who answered. "They--they found _something_ out there...Lucius and I believe that whatever the young men were after ended up stalking _them_ instead."

Bella closed her eyes. "Explain."

"The journal ended cold. They had been planning to leave the forest where they had been searching. But the writer stopped mid sentence."

"So then how did the journal find its way back to Malfoy Manor? Someone must have--"

"Escaped and brought it back," Lucius finished. "We theorized that already, Belle. No way to be sure, of course, but I have been searching for other documentation of the incident."

"Good," Bellatrix began slicing the bread, which steamed as she cut into it, and smelled of honey and oat. "I will explore my own library as well."

Elena shivered. "I do hope for all our sakes that we're wrong."

The others nodded. They stared into the fading embers, each lost in their own fears and regrets, hopes and secrets.

**

*

Vardon Sharain was the first to reply to her letter. Hermione had already researched him and his family carefully. The Sharains' were an old Wizarding family from the Far East, but their bloodline was not entirely pure. In fact, to Hermione's puzzlement, few of Voldemort's Followers were. Much less, in any case, than she had been led to believe. Vardon's parents were still living in the East, but they had sent Vardon to train with Voldemort couple years past. And he'd done fairly well, as far as Hermione could see, excelling with a particular emphasis in Transfiguration.

Hermione, naturally, had finished the various readings, essays, and charts due for her classes the weekend before, so once Professor Vector dismissed the students, she headed straight for her Dormitory to prepare for the evening. She had decided on a simple blue evening gown, with a white cloak and a matching muff. The night was chilly, even for an English winter, so Hermione wore two pairs of stockings and a light blue shift under her gown. Deciding not to even bother with her hair, she pulled it into a messy bun, and fastened it with a pearl clip.

Not wanting any questions from other Hogwarts students, Hermione quickly Disillusioned herself, said a brief good bye to Harry, and strode off the Grounds. Lucius had offered Hermione the use of his Dining Hall. She had accepted gratefully, though was more upset than she realized to learn that Lucius would be out for the night. Once a safe distance from the castle, Hermione Apparated to Malfoy Manor, landing primly just beside the front door.

Vardon arrived soon afterwards. Hermione had forgotten how tall he was, and for an instant she was intimidated. The moment was fleeting, however, and she greeted him smoothly enough.

"Vardon Sharain," Hermione said, extending both hands, palm upwards. "By the salt of my earth and the water of my river, I, Hermione Granger, do welcome you here."

Vardon placed his right hand on his heart, and replied, "I, Vardon, do accept your offering of salt and water, as a token of peace and goodwill for this visit."

Formal greeting over, Hermione gestured for him to step inside. She smiled up at him, taking in his appearance: emerald robes against the bronze of his skin, hair a black tumble about his strong-boned face. He was clean shaven, and smelled of amber heat and pine. She felt suddenly shy. "It's been too long, Vardon; I've missed you."

The lanky young man shrugged out of his cloak, and handed it, along with his cap and gloves, to Sqeek. "Same to you. Though I will say Morning Workouts have been much quieter without your constant barrage of questions!"

Hermione did her best Angry-Snape-Face, then broke into a laugh. "I expect you're telling nothing but the truth. But I also suspect you're growing bored as well, without me there to liven up duels."

Vardon shook his head in mock despair at her pomposity, and asked, "Can we skip the pre-supper smalltalk and eat already? I've been starving all day."

"Boys are always hungry. Do you ever think of anything else?" She rolled her eyes. "Wait. On second thought, _please_ take that as a rhetorical question."

He made a face. "Alright. But let's eat now, before my stomach glues itself to my backbone."

She shook her head, but led the way to the Dining Hall. "I can only pray we make it in time."

Vardon kept her pace, striding easily to her side on long legs. "What's for supper anyway? Something tasty, I hope." He helped Hermione to her chair.

"Thanks. Actually, I'm not entirely sure. Lots of meats, probably. Bread, vegetables, soup." She rang the tiny golden bell, signaling the house elves to begin bringing in food.

Hermione and Vardon spoke on small, safe subjects for the first part of supper: Morning Workouts, Vardon's life in the Far East, Hermione's studies at Hogwarts. Just after the final meat course was delivered--lemon chicken skewers with rosemary and thyme, served with hot buttered rice--Hermione decided to get to the real business of the evening.

She dabbed her lips with a serviette. "Lucius and Bellatrix are doing some interesting research. Have you heard?"

"Something about ancient monsters, I think." Vardon laughed. "It's all children's tales, if you ask me."

"As a child I loved hearing those stories."

"I did, too. My nurse--bless her, wherever she may be--would go on and on about them. I believed her utterly, then. She took them so seriously, you know? She was half-giantess, I think, though she left before I was old enough to know about such things."

Hermione refilled her goblet with ice cold water, and then did the same for her guest. "It's so strange for me, Vardon. Growing up in a muggle family, everything about out world--from wands and potions to giants--were said to be children's tales. I suppose if I hadn't believed when Professor McGonagall came to my door and explained that I was a witch, I wouldn't be here now."

Vardon considered. "It makes a certain sense, I guess. So what are Lucius and Bella researching, anyway?" He speared a carrot on the end of his chicken skewer.

"They're called the Others, I believe. Or the Old Seven, or the Demon Lords. It makes no difference, really."

He nodded. "Evil is evil, no matter the title."

"True." She waited while the elves brought in trays of fruit and cream. "Anyway, we think that one of them killed Ron."

"Ron was your friend, I remember." Vardon covered her hand with his. "I'm sorry; he must have been a good man, to earn such love."

She bit her lip. "He was. Harry and I will never forget him, but we're trying to be proactive now."

"As in launching an attack?"

Hermione chuckled. "Not quite yet. But I'm learning as much as I can about them."

He was thoughtful for a long moment. "What do they want, anyway?"

"To cause havoc. Chaos. Well, no one is entirely sure, but..." She looked intently into Vardon's golden eyes. "But whatever was after him, Vardon, is after me too."

He stared. "You mean...what?"

"Bella's been helping me with it." She looked down. "And Lucius, too. They've both felt it."

"Who's side is it on? I don't understand."

"I don't think they're interested in the fight between Voldemort and Dumbledore. They're...well. They're on their own side, I imagine."

Vardon let out a low whistle. "Merlin's beard." He looked at her suddenly. "You must be terrified."

Hermione laughed again, breaking the tension. "That's one way to put it. I'm seeking help from both the Followers and the Order members. I figure there are brilliant minds enough on both sides; we'll come up with a plan soon enough."

He was quick to catch on. "The enemy of my enemy is a friend to me." He rubbed his chin. "You don't need to sell me on this one, Hermione." He put his hand on hers again, golden eyes fixed on hers. "You know how I adore you."

She felt a blush creep on to her cheeks. "Thanks, Vardon. It does mean a lot to me. Your support in this, I mean."

"I mean it." He removed his hand. "Keep me updated." He winked, and turned to select some fruit.

When he had gone, Hermione wandered aimlessly through the halls. Overall, she was quite pleased with how the evening had turned out. _Though Vardon was probably one of the easiest to convince._ She shrugged, then smiled. _That's one. Bella and Lucius will be pleased. I should make sure they know it went well.  
_

She headed to the balcony overlooking the gardens to await Lucius' return.

**

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Thanks for reading! And you all know how I love reviews!


	18. All I See are Dark Eyes

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately

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It snowed that night, so Hermione had wrapped herself in one of the bearskins she found near the fire. Lucius had proved to be very long in coming, so Hermione's head had gradually come to rest on her clasped hands, eyes flickered shut. When Lucius arrived back to his manor, weary from his work, he found her curled like a cat on the pillows.

He went to her side, and stood looking down at her. The dark circles under her eyes told him that she must be exhausted as he was, but her lips, even in sleep, were pressed in a stubborn, determined line. Lucius bent, and brushed an elf-lock from her throat, lingering an instant on her warm skin, feeling the life pulsing underneath.

The man was surprised to see her there--he had thought she'd have returned to Hogwarts after her supper. Still, if truth be told, he liked seeing her in his manor, on his cushions, by _his_ fire. He wondered at that; being of noble blood and a well respected family, Lucius had been acquainted with numerous great beauties, some fair as a summer sky, others darker than a midnight kiss. So what was it about Hermione that made her so different?

He pursed his lips, thinking. She was perhaps one of the most brilliant minds Hogwarts had ever seen, surpassing even Severus Snape in some areas. _Is that it, then? I admire her intellect?_ But there was more, so much more. The bell-like sound of her voice, her laughter. How attuned she was to his mind, like they were two beings with one mind and heart. He loved her face when she read a book, sharp white teeth nibbling at her pouty lower lip, brow wrinkled in concentration. She fitted into his arms so perfectly, resting her head on his chest, listening for the sound of his heartbeat. And the strange floating sensation that took him while watching the sun set in her bright, endless eyes, more golden than brown, more sunlight than fire...

Lucius shook himself. He touched her shoulder lightly. "Hermione. Hermione, wake up."

She moaned softly, then opened her eyes. "Lucius..." She rubbed her brow, seeming uncertain then, like a lost little girl. "I was waiting for you but it was so late. I'm sorry--"

"No matter. How was the supper?"

Hermione re-focused quickly. "Good. Vardon took to the idea fairly quickly. We have him, I'm certain." She pulled herself to a standing position.

"I had thought as much." Lucius nodded, firelight turning his hair to honey. "The others may be more difficult to convince, but Bellatrix and I can help you there. Yes," he added, suddenly smiling, "We'll think of something. Well done, Witch."

He was beaming down at her, and Hermione flushed pink. "Thank you. It was sort of fun, actually. Vardon is easy to talk to."

She saw something flicker in his eyes, but in a heartbeat, the familiar smirk had returned, and Hermione thought she must have imagined it. She stepped closer, wanting him to take her in his arms, like he had so often before. "So you'll be there, next time. You and Bella, I mean."

"Perhaps." He gazed behind her, seemingly lost in thought. "Not now, however." His eyes fastened on her again. "You ought to get back to Hogwarts."

She was taken aback at the shift. "Oh, I...yes, I suppose I should."

"Come along, then." Lucius offered his arm.

Hermione was silent as they made their way to the front door. Sqeek had laid out her cloak and muff, and Lucius helped her into them wordlessly. On the front porch, he looked solemnly down at her. "Ready, Hermione?"

She caught the mischievous glint as he whisked them off before she could respond, and Hermione squeaked. She shut her eyes tightly, not opening them until they landed in the Forbidden Forest, just by the castle.

"That," she declared, trying to sound put out, "Was mean."

"Yes," he said smugly. "Yes, I rather think it was." A small smile took his lips, and he ran his fingers along her cheek, leaning close. "But not as--" Lucius was abruptly silent, hand frozen in place.

Unease pricked her. Hermione could hear the wind whistling in the stillness, whipping through the skeletal branches. Her breath came as steam in the night air. "Lucius," she said. "Lucius..." She whispered, and her voice cracked. "What is it," the girl began, already knowing the answer.

Lucius' wand appeared suddenly in his right hand, while his left arm, blessedly warm, drew her in against his shoulder.

Hermione could feel him, the presence that had haunted her for months. Except now, the creature--whatever it was--was not a mere touch in her mind, a shadowy dream in the night. It was _here_ now, and Hermione, peeking out, could see black eyes glowing like coals among the trees.

Lucius spoke, voice impossibly cold. "You have no business here, Demon. Seek elsewhere."

The creature seemed nonplussed by the words. It came closer. For the first time, Hermione could see him fully. The demon was man-shaped, though taller and broader than any human she had seen. Those black eyes glittered over a strong nose, and a thin, cruel mouth. The creature's hair was darker than his eyes, and fell in arrogant curls almost to his shoulders.

The wildness was too deep in him for the creature to be beautiful, but when he spoke, the demon's voice flowed over Hermione like silk and silver, catching her up, beckoning her close.

"I disagree, Mortal." He was standing several yards away, but the demon stretched out his hand, as though cupping a face, and Hermione could _feel_ the feather-light caress. Shaking, she pressed herself into Lucius' shoulder.

It laughed softly, and the sound echoed, as if coming off a snowy mountain. "Can it be thou seest not? Mine own _business_ doth involve an acclamation of the all darkness o'er this globe; and the very soul which thou wouldst conceal," he said, turning his coal eyes to Hermione, "hails ev'n now to my character."

"No," Lucius stated flatly. The light in his eyes that Hermione knew so well had vanished; diamond hardness filled that grim and certain gaze. The man who held her was no gentle, laughing lover of music and art, Hermione realized. _No_. This Lucius was the Warrior, and there was a terrible ferocity in him that made blood pound like thunder in her heart. And then the knowledge came unbidden in her mind: _this Lucius is a killer_.

The fair man who Hermione could not recognize put his wand away. He laid a heavy right hand on her shoulder. "She is not yours, Demon, and you shall _never_ claim her." Each word was enunciated with a deadly calm, controlled as deep water.

Hermione raised her eyes to the demon once more, and for a split second, it seemed uncertain. A strange silvery light had begun to shine around Hermione and Lucius, enclosing them in a smoky shield.

But then the demon locked his gaze with Hermione.

_Hermione,_ the demon crooned. _Un-shroud thy power, unchain thy cag_é_d heart! And shelter thine darkness 'neath my breast, losing faculty and function and form within mine!_

The girl could not feel Lucius' arms falling away, nor hear his anguished calls for her return. She moved closer to the demon, drawing the shield with her.

_Attend him not, Hermione. _His voice was black velvet against her ear, commanding and seductive, pulsating in her mind. _Submit to me, and watch th' bird and beast quake at thy approach! Feel the men o' this world respond as puppets t' thy will! Only heed me, and accord me that tender adulation o' th' hound, more perfect i' servitude than mutiny. Comest now, Hermione!_

She was reaching to him, fingertips almost brushing his outstretched hand, seeing only a release, an end...

Except there was something holding her back. A voice, an anchor, crystal sharp and achingly familiar.

"_Hermione_..." It was Lucius who spoke the quiet word, and she hesitated.

The demon before her sounded impatient. _Now, Hermione..._

Blinding stars crossed her vision. _Go with him,_ a part of her screamed. _The darkness is within you, embrace it!_ But somewhere in her mind, from some hidden nook, an entirely different voice whispered, _It's _Lucius_, who you know and trust and adore. Return to him, to the one who loves you..._

So she turned, and found she could see Lucius so clearly, even through the ghostly shield, his eyes burning, flaming, smoldering, the single light looking on the tempest.

And Hermione moved back into his embrace, shielding Lucius once more, not even hearing the crescendo, the eruption of anger behind her from the demon...she looked only at Lucius, and saw the fierce loyalty and pride glimmering in his grey eyes...

She knew nothing more.

**

*

_For a long time, there was only blackness._

_It was calm and soothing and peaceful. Hermione rested and recovered, so deep in her silent cocoon that she forgot the sound of life. _

"You've flown_," whispered the darkness. _"And you've looked into the face of winter, and triumphed..."

_The darkness was merciful. It caught her up, light as a feather, soft as summer silk. All feeling ceased, leaving only numbness, only the darkness closing about her like water._

_Time passed, a great circle, and Hermione was in the centre, letting it wheel about her.  
_

_But the darkness had had enough. _"Rise now,_" it said. _"Rise now, to triumph again! Now, before it's too late--"

_So Hermione spread her arms and floated upward, ever upward. And she could see life, she could see life, and it astonished her...  
_

_Hermione saw the fair-haired man again, the one whom she had saved (but he saved her too, hadn't he?), yet sorrow creased his brow. She reached for him, meaning to offer comfort, but he shook his head, smiling sadly, speaking words she couldn't hear, couldn't understand..._

_Then the dark-haired boy, green eyes alight with the fire of battle. He was running through a stone corridor, robes streaming behind. But his wand was aimed at her, and the spell he cast reeked of death and decay..._

_Oh! The Boy-with-Flaming-Hair came forward, with such love in his eyes, and Hermione held open her arms, ready to embrace him. He threw back his head in soundless laughter, and took her in his arms._

_And there was a woman, beautiful and golden, reaching out and pleading and weeping, and Hermione tried to help...except the girl couldn't touch her, for the woman was so far off..._

"It is the woman you must save, now, Hermione. You must--"

**

*

Hermione awoke, and the first thing she knew was pain. Agony. So much, she couldn't possibly bear it--

Grey eyes. "Go back to sleep, my Darling, it's too early..." The grey eyes disappeared, but she could feel a kiss pressed on her brow. "_Sleep..._"

**

*

_Darkness again. _"--Save her. You carry the weight of us all, Hermione..." _it finished._

**

*

And then she felt the life return to her, building slowly, the fire mounting ever higher, until it brimmed within her.

She opened her eyes.

"Hermione," cried a voice. A boy's face swam into focus."She's awake, come see!" The joy in him was so sharp it almost was painful.

Other faces appeared.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, to no one in particular. "Lucius? Where...where am I?"

It was the woman who replied. "You're in Malfoy Manor, Hermione. Welcome back." Bellatrix smiled, calm as ever.

"We missed you," said Harry. "We've loads to tell you, you're safe now..."

Hermione looked, and saw Lucius by the door. She sat up, feeling strength return, and smiled around at the people who loved her. "I know," she told them.

**

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Thanks for reading. As always, please review!

And message me, if you have any questions

:-D


	19. In Which Answers Raise More Questions

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately

A giant THANKS to those who reviewed last chapter!!

**

*

Christmas was around the corner. Thinking Hermione had merely taken ill, the Hogwarts staff had excused her from end of term examinations. "It's not a matter of achieving passing grades, anyway," Professor Vector had said to Harry. "For Hermione, exams are really just there to give her something to do. Like a hobby, as it were..." McGonagall had chortled at that, and Harry joined in. Deception came more easily to him, now that he was practicing.

Hermione had called them "Mind Games". In reality, there was more to it than that: Harry did exercises on facial expressions, isolating each of the muscles and strengthening it, so that he might have complete control. He devoured manuscripts on body language and psychology, Muggle and Wizarding alike. And Harry began experimenting on the other students and professors around him, changing their moods, beliefs, and actions, all in a subtle progression, without their knowledge.

He might have felt sickened with himself, in another time. Sickened by his manipulations, the falsities and half-truths which came from his mouth. But there was no room for that now; in a world of treachery and insincerity, Harry couldn't afford to trust too many people. So he observed them instead, always seeking for potential recruits. Some--a precious few--had real talent, and he marked them in his mind as possibilities. Most were unacceptable for various reasons, so Harry dismissed them from his thoughts, discouraged and grim, wanting more than anything else to rest.

But he kept on searching. It was vital that he succeed. He, Lucius, and Bellatrix had discussed the incident with the demon while Hermione was unconscious, and then again when she awoke. "It was Hermione who defeated him," the fair man had said. "I didn't do much. The demon wanted her, wanted her power, her darkness. And I thought she would give herself to him..."

Bellatrix put her hand over his, comfortingly, and Harry had realized how intimate their relationship must be. "Something stopped her, though. Something important," she had said. Lucius turned to look at her, and with that quiet exchange, he had relaxed.

From Lucius' narrative, Harry pieced a story together. After the demon had appeared, Hermione, sensing the danger, somehow created a shield, a bubble that enveloped the pair. Lucius' magic seemed to have little or no effect on the demon, but the shield seemed to be effective enough. "Like her magic could _work_ with the demon's," Lucius said. "It was...compatible." Harry had shivered at the words. After the demon spoke with the girl--"So possessively, so..._provocatively_," Lucius had shuddered--Hermione had moved closer, almost touching the demon, when she suddenly turned back to Lucius, shielded him, and fell into a faint.

It was at that point when the demon's mask disappeared. He had screamed, face contorting, eyes crimson. "The sheer power of his anger," Lucius had remarked. "I could feel it thrumming in my bones." But the demon had vanished then. "Well, not exactly," Lucius rubbed his chin. "It was as though he was being _pulled_ back, somehow. He tried to reach me, even through the shield, but he couldn't. Something...who knows what. Whatever it was, it made him disappear."

They had all looked at each other. It was disquieting, how little they actually knew.

"Well," said Bellatrix, expression dark. "Now we research as much as we can."

Harry grimaced.

**  
*

"I think I've found something," Hermione said. They were in the Library in Malfoy Manor, and though she was still weak, Hermione had insisted on doing some research.

Bellatrix looked up from the scroll she was studying. "Something good?"

"Maybe," Hermione shrugged. "There's a magic for _emotion_."

"Some sort of spell?" Lucius asked. He was perched primly on the squashy chair by the fireplace, golden-pale hair tied out of his face. The look exposed his strong jawline, the gentle curve of his neck.

"No. More like a...a _branch_ of magic. But it's not on the curriculum at Hogwarts, and I've never even heard of it." She looked quizzically at the man, but he only frowned.

"What's it called?"

"They're known as the..." She paused at the pronunciation. "The Praegasi Effusium." Skimming down the page, she added, "And they can control emotions, in themselves and others. Some have been known to be Truthseers, as well." Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Who are _they_?"

"It's an old division of magic," said Bella, perking up. "I did some research on them a few years back. Simply put, the Truthseer can look into the _soul_ of a person. They see beyond illusion, beyond the smokey veil of our world, and hone in on the _essence_ of something."

"Truthseers. People who see the Truth. Apt name," Lucius quipped dryly. "I suspect they make excellent detectives."

Bellatrix shot him an exasperated look, but Hermione grinned. They made a good team, the three of them; Bellatrix was all intensity and fervor, whereas Lucius knew the best--the healthiest--scientific methods of study, taking small breaks in between periods of study. _And I...I have a bit of both in me. _It was true, though Hermione was more like Bellatrix than she knew.

"In any case," Hermione said before Bellatrix could reprimand the smirking man, "What I'm curious to know is how the Dark Lord is reacting to all this."

She saw Bella and Lucius stiffen, as they generally did when Hermione brought up Voldemort. The man hadn't requested to see her since her stay at Malfoy Manor, and Hermione got the sense that both Bella and Lucius hoped it would stay that way. But she couldn't be sure. They were each highly gifted masters of control, and their features had remained impassive...yet that in itself told Hermione that something was up. And she was determined to find out what.

Lucius spoke first. "He's responded to your progress well, Hermione. He likes what you've accomplished thus far."

"He's not loving our contact with the Order members, it's true," Bellatrix chimed in. "But we think he accepts it as a necessary measure."

"I don't get it," Hermione stood, and began to pace around the table. "Why hasn't he tried to contact me? And I know you're all hiding something. Just tell me--what?"

"It's difficult for the Dark Lord to contact you while you're at Hogwarts, Hermione, " said Bella. "The Wards recognize him as a threat."

"So?" She asked. "You and Lucius got in fine." Hermione stopped and put her hands on her hips. "You've got to give me some answers."

Lucius sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fair enough." He took a breath. "Belle and I could enter the castle undetected simply because our intent was solely to assist you, a Hogwarts student. That, combined with small magics--Disillusionment spells and so forth--allowed us to slip beyond the Wards."

"Voldemort, on the other hand," said Bellatrix, moving from her seat to stand in front of Hermione. "Cannot enter. The Bloodlust is in him too deeply for it to be controlled easily; the moment he slipped, just for an instant, alarms would go off immediately. And that, Hermione, is a risk he isn't willing to take."

"Even to contact you," Lucius put in. "Too dangerous. Hogwarts isn't quite as fond of him as it used to be."

Hermione was too intent on the conversation to catch the strange words. "But still, I'm here now, away from Hogwarts. Why doesn't he see me?"

Bellatrix exchanged a look with Lucius over Hermione's shoulder. "We can...arrange a meeting, if you like," she began slowly.

But Lucius was shaking his head. "No. That is _not_ going to happen, Belle. We agreed--"

"Agreed what?" Hermione turned to Lucius, eyes searching. "I'm going to find out, one way or the other." She reminded them. She saw Lucius close his eyes, jaw clenched.

"Fine." His voice was clipped. "I'll see to arranging a meeting now." He headed for the door. "But we'll be there with you." He looked at Bella meaningfully before striding out of the room, robes swishing angrily behind him.

Hermione slumped back into her seat. "What did I do? I had thought we..." She trailed off, nearly in tears.

"What did you think, Hermione?" Bellatrix asked gently. She sank onto the chair next to the girl, keeping her hand on Hermione's shoulder.

The girl shook her head, looking down. "I just...I thought after that thing with the demon, and all we've been through--that is, we've...we've been equals, haven't we? I mean, he gives me instruction and teaching, but..."

"But?" The woman's features were perfectly still, perfectly serene. She ran her hand through Hermione's curls.

The young witch's voice was barely audible, so Bella leaned forward. "_Why_ doesn't he tell me what's happening with Voldemort. Why don't you tell me? I don't understand."

Bellatrix hesitated, looking pensive, and Hermione studied the older witch. She was blindingly beautiful, really, quite striking with her dark tumbling hair and fair skin. And even now, lost in thought, the woman was poised, back and neck straight, features controlled. _Just who I wish I could be,_ Hermione thought. _The kind of lady I...I admire most._

Hermione touched Bella's hand, which was still in her hair. "Bellatrix?"

She blinked, as though coming out of a trance. "Ah, yes. Hermione." Bella moved her hands away. She began carefully, as though choosing her words with extraordinary precision. "I think Lucius is--we both are, really--concerned with the Dark Lord's interest in you." Her voice was strange then, almost unsure. "Voldemort...he hungers for power. _Your_ power specifically, mind you, and he--" Bella seemed to be searching for the correct language--"He can be...intense, where you're involved."

"What?" The girl said, confused. "What does _that_ mean?"

"It means what it means," said Bellatrix abruptly. "It is enough that Lucius and I will attend this meeting." She stood, and touched Hermione's hand again. "For now, I think you should eat some lunch. I'll have Sqeek prepare something for you..."

She headed out of the room, leaving Hermione sitting at the table. What was going on?

**

*

Lucius had contacted the Dark Lord via a speech spell, and arranged a meeting for the next morning. With that out of the way, the man Apparated to the dueling room, where he knew he could find Vardon Sharain. He had another errand to complete.

It wasn't too hard to find him. Sharain was there, polishing his wand by the fountain. He had refused the conventional wizard's robes, preferring instead a simple pair of loose black pants, which set off the bronze of his skin. The well-defined muscles in his arms and stomach rippled as he worked, full lips pursed in concentration.

"Sharain." Lucius said, cordially enough. "I'd like a word."

The boy looked up. Seeing Lucius, his lip curled minutely, almost impossible to detect. "Lord Malfoy. How can I help you?"

"Hermione told me of your supper. I trust you enjoyed yourself?"

Sharain leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. "Yes," he said lazily. "Yes, I suppose we did."

"Hermione seems to like you. She believes you to be a firm friend?" A hint of danger curled subtly into his voice.

"Of course." Sharain seemed unperturbed. He stretched his arms, exposing his chest and neck to the man. "How could you think otherwise?"

Lucius refused to rise to the bait. He used wordless, wandless magic to press Sharain against the wall, trapping him. The boy lost his nonchalance, turning quickly to anger. The man sneered. "Hermione is under _my_ protection. The moment I sense you at your little..._games_, I will take you out. Believe me." His face was stone, eyes hard and sharp as flint.

Sharain mustered a snarl. "You underestimate me, _Lucius_. I know Hermione isn't a toy to be played with once, then discarded." He pulled himself from the wall. "I will have her, power and all, and there's _nothing_ you can do to stop me."

Lucius looked down at the boy, disdain etched into his features. "I think you'll find there is much I can do, boy. Don't test me." He turned his back to Sharain, making to leave.

The boy struck out impulsively, just as Lucius knew he would. The man turned and caught his fist mid-punch, and dispatched the boy with a swift jab to the side. He twisted Sharain's arm, just enough to let the boy know he meant business.

He leaned close. "I warned you. Think I'm not watching all you like. But it won't work, you see. Because I will always, _always_ keep an eye on you, Sharain."

Lucius left him there, grimacing in pain on the floor.

**

*

Hermione wandered through the gardens. It was evening, and she hadn't seen Lucius since their conversation in the Library earlier that day. She wore dark pants and an emerald jumper, with a matching set of hat and gloves, and a grey coat. The flowers had withered completely by now with the frost, but the Manor Grounds were still beautiful. The place was truly massive, with it's own stables and armory and keep. The towers and turrets of the manse loomed high above her, the stone appearing dark against the setting sun. It was home to Hermione, as much as her parent's house in London.

Perhaps more so.

She hadn't been to London since that summer, and so much had passed since then...it was so strange, looking back at her life before. Ron had been alive, and both Hermione and Harry had been close with the Weasleys. They still were dear, she supposed, but it was different. There was distance between them, and neither party had attempted to bridge it.

There was distance between most of the Hogwarts students and Hermione, too. She tutored them occasionally, or helped them with their small problems. But she had changed; Hermione had seen and felt things of a depth they hadn't even imagined, so they couldn't identify with her. To them, Hermione was one to be respected, admired, envied. She could offer them advice, teach them a spell, but never confide in them. They all looked up to her, without even knowing who she really was.

It made her want to scream.

And now Lucius was being distant. There were things he kept from her, she knew. He had secrets, as they all did. It was as it should be. Except where it concerned Hermione. _What is there about the Dark Lord that he doesn't want me to know?_ Her conversation with Bellatrix had raised more questions than it answered. Of course Voldemort was attracted to her power. She knew that from the beginning. _Maybe that's all it is. Lucius doesn't want him to use me..._

She was distracted from her musings by a figure lying in the grass.

"Elena?" She breathed. She hadn't seen the woman since her training with Lucius. "What're you doing here?"

She sat up, smoothing the folds of her skirt. "Ah, Hermione! I've missed you..." Elena stretched her arms for a hug. "Oh, it's been so long! Come, sit here with me." She pulled the girl down. "Now tell me what you've been up to. Why are you tromping about, looking all distressed and morose?"

"Well..." Hermione hesitated. She looked at the woman beside her. Elena peered back at her with grey eyes, and smiled gently, so gently, that Hermione sighed. "Alright. But it's going to take a while..."

Elena winked. "Well I think I have more than a while." Her gaze never once moved from Hermione's face as she waited, twirling a miraculously preserved violet between long fingers.

**

*

Alone in the night, deep in the blackness, An-Ombar hunts. He needs to feed, since the fair-haired man he had intended for a little snack decided to be difficult. And the girl...his own little _Necromancer_ not only rejected him, but rebelled against his wishes, and _shielded_ the man? Impossible. Unacceptable. It's only a matter of time before she submits, he knows. But demons weren't made to wait.

The prey he's been stalking moves closer, blithely unaware of the danger he's in. He is a portly man, well past forty, and balding. An-Ombar steps out, unveiling his presence. The little man catches sight of him and stops. Begins to back away, uncertain of what he's seeing. The demon gives a toothy grin, enjoying the scent of the man's fear, the perspiration starting to form on his brow. The little man freezes.

An-Ombar glides up to him. With a finger her caresses the man's cheeks, watching the flabby cheeks pale.

"Wh--what..." The man asks. The fear in him is so ripe, so delicious, that An-Ombar moves closer still.

"Shh, shh." He croons, patting the man, massaging his shoulders. "_Hush_..."

The man is breathing heavily now, trembling severely. "Now you just..." he licks his lips, eyes twitching. "You just get out of here, before--"

An-Ombar knocks him to the ground, and kneels at his side, Slowly, and with infinite gentleness, he runs his long fingers down the man's cheeks, hearing the bones _crack_ underneath. Blood begins to well out from the man's eyes, nose, mouth, and he manages a strangled scream.

_Oh_, An-Ombar breathes, transfixed at the blood, the naked fear. He drinks in the man's agony, the horror in his eyes. He smiles tenderly down at the man, before grabbing his foot and dragging him deeper into the forest.

Oh, this one will last him a while.

**

*

Eww. Well, demons are certainly nasty, sadistic creatures, aren't they? Thanks for reading, hugs to you all :-D


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